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A LAODICEAN. 










































































































“ IS THE RESEMBLANCE STRONG ? ” — page 165 . 

—Frontispiece, Vol. Seven. 




5 


A LAODICEAN 


OR, 


THE CASTLE OF THE DE STANCYS. 


A STORY OF TO-DAY. 


BY 


THOMAS HARDY, 

n 

AUTHOR OF 

FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD,” *' A PAIR OF BLUE EYES,” ETC. 


VOLUME SEVEN 

With Frontispiece 


New York 

PETER FENELON COLLIER 







486555 

JU L 2 0 1942 


Vf /• C*/ 


CONTENTS. 


BOOK THE FIRST. 

George Somerset 

BOOK THE SECOND. 

Dare and Havill 

BOOK THE THIRD. 

De Stancy 

BOOK THE FOURTH. 

Somerset, Dare, and De Stancy . 

BOOK THE FIFTH. 

De Stancy and Paula .... 

BOOK THE SIXTH. 


PAGES 

1-109 


. IIO-I53 


. 154-228 


• 229-255 


• 256-339 


Paula 


34°'37 4 


























































« 


















A LAODICEAN; 

OR, 

THE CASTLE OF THE DE STANCYS. 


CHAPTER L 

The sun blazed down and down, till it was within half an houi 
of its setting ; but the sketcher still lingered at his occupation 
of measuring and copying the chevroned doorway — a bold and 
quaint example of a transitional style of architecture, which 
formed the tower entrance to an English village church. The 
graveyard being quite open on its western side, the tweed-clad 
figure of the young draughtsman, and the tall mass of antique 
masonry which rose above him to a battlemented parapet, 
were fired to a great brightness by the solar rays, that crossed 
the neighbouring mead like a warp of gold threads, in whose 
mazes groups of equally lustrous gnats danced and wailed 
incessantly. 

He was so absorbed in his pursuit that he did not mark the 
brilliant chromatic effect of which he composed the central 
feature, till it was brought home to his intelligence by the 
warmth of the moulded stonework under his touch when 
measuring ; which led him at length to turn his head and gaze 
on its cause. 

/ There are few in whom the sight of a sunset does no! beget 
' as much meditative melancholy as contemplative pleasure, the 
Oiuman decline and death that it illustrates being too obvious 
to escape the notice of the simplest observer. The sketcher, 
as if he had been brought to this reflection many hundreds of 
times before by the same spectacle, showed that he did not 

B 


2 


A LAODICEAN. 


wish to pursue it just now, by turning away his face after a few 
momenta, to resume his architectural studies. 

He took his measurements carefully, and as if he reverenced 
the old workers whose trick he was endeavouring to acquire 
six hundred years after the original performance had ceased 
and the performers passed into the unseen. By means of a 
strip of lead called a leaden tape, which he pressed around 
and into the fillets and hollows with his finger and thumb, he 
transferred the exact contour of each moulding to his drawing, 
that lay on a sketching-stool a few feet distant ; where were also 
a sketching-block, a small T-square, a bow-pencil, and other 
mathematical instruments. When he had marked down the line 
thus fixed, he returned to the doorway to copy another as before. 

It being the month of August, when the pale face of the 
townsman and the stranger is to be seen among the brown 
skins of remotest uplanders, not only in England, but through- 
out the temperate zone, few of the homeward-bound labourers 
paused to notice him further than by a momentary turn of the 
head. They had beheld such gentlemen before, not exactly 
measuring the church so accurately as this one seemed to be 
doing, but painting it from a distance, or at least walking round 
the mouldy pile. At the same time the present visitor, even 
exteriorly, was not altogether commonplace. His features 
were good, his eyes of the dark deep sort called eloquent by 
the sex that ought to know, and with that ray of light in them 
j>which announces a heart susceptible to beauty of all kinds, — in 
woman, in art, and in inanimate nature. Though he would have 
been broadly characterised as a young man, his face bore con- 
tradictory testimonies to his precise age. This was conceivably 
owing to a too dominant speculative activity in him, which, 
while it had preserved the emotional side of his constitution, 
and with it the significant flexuousness of mouth and chin, had 
played upon his forehead and temples till, at weary moments, 
they exhibited some traces of being over-exercised. A youth- 
fulness about the mobile features, a mature forehead — though 
not exactly what the world has been familiar with in past ages 
— is now growing common ; and with the advance of juvenile 
introspection it probably must grow commoner still. Briefly, 
he had more of the beauty — if beauty it ought to be called — of 
the future human type than of the past ; but not so much as to 
make him other than a nice young man. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


3 


His build was somewhat slender and tall ; his complexion, 
though a little browned by recent exposure, was that of a man 
who spent much of his time indoors. Of beard he had but 
small show, though he was as innocent as a Nazarite of the use 
of the razor; but he possessed a moustache all-sufficient to 
hide the subtleties of his mouth, which could thus be tremulous 
at tender moments without provoking inconvenient criticism. 

Owing to his situation on high ground, open to the west, he 
remained enveloped in the lingering aureate haze till a time 
when the eastern part of the churchyard was in obscurity, and 
damp with rising dew. When it was too dark to sketch 
further he packed up his drawing, and, beckoning to a lad who 
had been idling by the gate, directed him to carry the stool 
and implements to a roadside inn which he named, lying a 
mile or two ahead. The draughtsman leisurely followed the 
lad out of the churchyard, and along a lane in the direction 
signified. 

% 

The spectacle of a summer traveller from London sketching 
mediaeval details in these neo-Pagan days, when a lull has 
come over the study of English Gothic architecture, through a 
re-awakening to the art-forms of times that more nearly neigh- 
bour our own, is accounted for by the fact that George Somer- 
set, son of the Academician of that name, was a man of 
independent tastes and excursive instincts, who unconsciously, 
and perhaps unhappily, took greater pleasure in floating in 
lonely currents of thought than with the general tide of opinion. 
When quite a lad, in the days of the French-Gothic mania 
which immediately succeeded to the great English-pointed 
revival under Britton, Pugin, Rickman, Scott, and other 
medievalists, he had crept away from the fashion to admire 
what was good in Palladian and Renaissance. As soon as 
Jacobean, Queen-Anne, and kindred accretions of decayed 
styles began to be popular, he purchased such old-school 
works as Revett and Stuart, Chambers, and the rest, and 
worked diligently at the Five Orders ; till quite bewildered on 
the question of style, he concluded that all styles were extinct, 
and with them all architecture as a living art. Somerset was 
not old enough at that time to know that, in practice, art had 
at all times been as full of shifts and compromises as every other 
mundane thing ; that ideal perfection was never achieved by 

B 2 


4 


A LAODICEAN. 


Greek, Goth, or Hebrew Jew, and never would be; and thus 
he was thrown into a mood of disgust with his profession, from 
which mood he was only delivered by recklessly abandoning 
these studies and indulging in an old enthusiasm for poetical 
literature. For two whole years he did nothing but write verse 
in every conceivable metre, and on every conceivable subject, 
from Wordsworthian sonnets on the singing of his tea-kettle to 
epic fragments on the Fall of Empires. His discovery at the 
age of five-and-twenty that these inspired works were not 
jumped at by the publishers with all the eagerness they 
deserved, coincided in point of time with a severe hint from 
his father that unless he went on with his legitimate profession 
he might have to look elsewhere than at home for an allowance. 
Mr. Somerset junior then awoke to realities, became intently 
practical, rushed back to his dusty drawing-boards, and worked 
up the styles anew, with a view of regularly starting in practice 
on the first day of the following January. 

It is an old story, and perhaps only deserves the light tone ' 
in which the soaring of a young man into the empyrean, and 
his descent again, is always narrated. But as has often been 
said, the light and the truth may be on the side of the dreamer : 
a far wider view than the wise ones have may be his at that 
recalcitrant time, and his reduction to common measure be 
nothing less than a tragic event. The operation called lunging, * 
in which a haltered colt is made to trot round and round a 
horsebreaker who holds the rope, till the beholder grows dizzy 
in looking at them, is a very unhappy one for the animal con- 
cerned. During its progress the colt springs upward, across 
the circle, stops, flies over the turf with the velocity of a bird, 
and indulges in all sorts of graceful antics ; but he always ends 
in one way — thanks to the knotted whipcord — in a level trot 
round the lunger with the regularity of a horizontal wheel, and 
in the loss for ever to his character of the bold contours which 
the fine hand of Nature gave it. Yet the process is considered 
to be the making of him. 

Whether Somerset became permanently made under the 
action of the inevitable lunge, or whether he lapsed into mere 
dabbling with the artistic side of his profession only, it would be 
premature to say ; but at any rate it was the impetus of his 
contrite return to architecture as a calling that sent him on the 
sketching excursion under notice. Feeling that something still 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


5 


was wanting to round off his knowledge before he could take 
his professional line with confidence, he was led to remember 
that his own native Gothic was the one form of design that he 
had totally neglected from the beginning, through its having 
greeted him with wearisome iteration at the opening of his 
career. Now it had again returned to silence ; indeed — such 
is the surprising instability of art “ principles ” as they are 
facetiously called — it was just as likely as not to sink into the 
neglect and oblivion which had been its lot in Georgian times. 
This accident of being out of vogue lent English Gothic an 
additional charm to one of his proclivities ; and away he went 
to make it the business of a summer circuit in the west. 

The quiet time of evening, the secluded neighbourhood, the 
unusually gorgeous liveries of the clouds packed in a pile over 
that quarter of the heavens in which the sun had disappeared, 
were such as to make a traveller loiter on his walk. Coming 
to a stile, Somerset mounted himself on the top bar, to imbibe 
the spirit of the scene and hour. The evening was so still that 
every trifling sound could be heard for miles. There was the 
rattle of a returning waggon, mixed with the smacks of the wag- 
goner’s whip : the team must have been at least three miles off 
From far over the hill came the faint periodic yell of kennelled 
hounds ; while from the nearest village resounded the voices of 
boys at play in the twilight. Then a powerful clock struck the 
hour ; it was not from the direction of the church, but rather 
from the wood behind him ; and he thought it must be the 
clock of some mansion that way. 

But the mind of man cannot always be forced to take up 
subjects by the pressure of their material presence, and 
Somerset’s thoughts were often, to his great loss, apt to be even 
more than common truants from the tones and images that met 
his outer senses on walks and rides. He would sometimes go 
quietly through the queerest, gayest, most extraordinary town 
in Europe, and let it alone, provided it did not meddle with 
him by its beggars, beauties, innkeepers, police, coachmen, 
mongrels, bad smells, and such like obstructions. This feat of 
questionable utility he began performing now. Sitting on the 
three-inch ash rail that had been peeled and polished like glass 
by the rubbings of all the small-clothes in the parish, he forgot 
the time, the place, forgot that it was August — in short, 
everything of the present altogether. His riiind flew back to 



6 A LAODICEAN. 

his past life, and deplored the waste of time that had resulted 
from his not having been able to make up his mind which 
of the many fashions of art that were coming and going in 
kaleidoscopic change was the true point of departure for him- 
self. He had suffered from the modern malady of unlimited 
appreciativeness as much as any living man of his own age. 
Dozens of his fellows in years and experience, who had never 
thought specially of the matter, but had blunderingly applied 
themselves to whatever form of art confronted them at the 
moment of their making a move, were by this time acquiring 
renown as new lights ; while he was still unknown. He wished 
that some accident could have hemmed in his eyes between 
inexorable blinkers, and sped him on in a channel ever so 
worn. 

Thus balanced between believing and not believing in his own 
future, till the poise became so delicate that a bubble of opinion 
turned either scale, he was recalled to the scene without by j 
hearing the notes of a solemn familiar hymn, rising in subdued 
harmonies from an unexplored valley below. He listened more 
heedfully. It was his old friend the “ New Sabbath,” which he 
had never once heard since the lisping days of childhood, and 
whose existence, much as it had then been to him, he had till 
this moment quite forgotten. Where the “ New Sabbath” had 
kept itself all these years — why that sound and hearty melody 
had disappeared from all the cathedrals, parish churches, 
minsters and chapels-of-ease that he had been acquainted with 
during his apprenticeship to life, and until his ways had become 
irregular and uncongregational — he could not, at first, say. 
But then he recollected that the tune appertained to the old 
west-gallery period of church-music, anterior to the great choral 
reformation and the rule of Monk — that old time when the 
repetition of a word, or ha f-line of a verse, was not considered 
a disgrace to an ecclesiastical choir. 

Willing to be interested in anything which would keep him 
out-of-doors, Somerset dismounted from the stile and descended 
the hill before him, to learn whence the singing proceeded. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


7 


CHAPTER II. 

He found that it had its origin in a building standing alone in 
a field ; and though the evening was not yet dark without, 
lights shone from the windows. In a few moments Somerset 
stood before the edifice. Being just then en rapport with 
ecclesiasticism by reason of his recent occupation, he could not 
help murmuring, “ Shade of Pugin, what a monstrosity ! ” 

Perhaps this exclamation (being one rather out of date since 
the discovery that Pugin himself often nodded to an amazing 
extent) would not have been indulged in by Somerset but for 
his new architectural resolves, which caused professional 
opinions to officiously advance themselves to his lips whenever 
occasion offered. The building was, in short, a recently-erected 
chapel of red brick, with pseudo-classic ornamentation, and the 
white regular joints of mortar could be seen streaking its sur- 
face in geometrical oppressiveness from top to bottom. The 
roof was of blue slate, clean as a table, and unbroken from 
gable to gable ; the windows were glazed with sheets of plate 
glass, a temporary iron stove-pipe passing out near one of these, 
and running up to the height of the ridge, where it was finished 
by a covering like a parachute. Walking round to the end, he 
perceived an oblong white stone let into the wall just above the 
plinth, on which was inscribed in black letter : 

ERECTED 187 — , at the sole expense of JOHN POWER, 
ESQ., M.P. 

The “ New Sabbath” still proceeded line by line, with all the 
emotional swells and cadences that had of old characterised the 
tune : and the body of vocal harmony that it evoked implied a 
large congregation within, to whom it was plainly as familiar as 
it had been to church-goers of a past generation. With a 
whimsical sense of regret at the secession of his once favourite 
air Somerset moved away, and would have quite withdrawn 
from the field had he not at that moment observed two young 
men with pitchers of water coming up from a stream hard by, 


8 


A LAODICEAN. ' 


and hastening with their burdens into the chapel vestry by a 
side door. Almost as soon as they had entered they emerged 
again with empty pitchers, and proceeded to the stream to fill 
them as before, an operation which they repeated several times. 
Somerset went forward to the stream, and waited till the young 
men came out again. 

“ You are carrying in a great deal of water,” he said, as each 
dipped his pitcher. 

One of the young men modestly replied, “ Yes : we filled the 
cistern this morning ; but it leaks, and requires a few pitcher- 
fuls more.” 

“ Why do you do it ? ” 

“ There is to be a baptism, sir.” 

Somerset was not at the moment sufficiently interested to 
develop a further conversation, and observing them in silence 
till they had again vanished into the building, he went on his 
way. Reaching the brow of the hill he stopped and looked 
back. The chapel was still in view, and the shades of night 
having deepened, the lights shone from the windows yet more 
brightly than before. A few steps farther would hide them and 
the edifice, and all that belonged to it from his sight, possibly 
for ever. There was something in the thought which led him 
to linger in a way he had not at all expected. The chapel had 
neither beauty, quaintness, nor congeniality to recommend it : 
the dissimilitude between the new utilitarianism of the place 
and the scenes of venerable Gothic art which had occupied his 
daylight hours could not well be exceeded. But Somerset, as 
has been said, was an instrument of no narrow gamut : he had 
a key for other touches than the purely aesthetic, even on such 
an excursion as this. His mind was arrested by the intense, 
and busy energy which must needs belong to an assembly that 
required such a glare of light to do its religion by; in the 
heaving of that tune there was an earnestness which made him 
thoughtful, and the shine of those windows he had characterised 
as ugly reminded him of the shining of the good deed in a 
naughty world. The chapel and its shabby plot of ground, 
from which the herbage was all trodden away by busy feet, had 
a living human interest that the numerous minsters and churches 
knee-deep in fresh green grass, visited by him during the fore- 
going week, had often lacked. Moreover, there was going to 
be a baptism : that meant the immersion of a grown-up person j 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


9 


and he had been told that Baptists were earnest people and that 
the scene was most impressive. What manner of man would it 
be who on an ordinary plodding and bustling evening of the 
nineteenth century could single himself out as one different 
from the rest of the inhabitants, banish all shyness, and come 
forward to undergo such a trying ceremony ? Who was he that 
had pondered, gone into solitudes, wrestled with himself, 
worked up his courage and said, I will do this, though few else 
will, for I believe it to be my duty ? 

Whether on account of these thoughts, or from the circum- 
stance that he had been alone amongst the tombs all day 
without communion with his kind, he could not tell in after 
years (when he had good reason to think of the subject) ; but 
so it was that Somerset went back, and again stood under the 
chapel-wall. 

Instead of entering he passed round to where the stove- 
chimney came through the bricks, and holding on to the iron 
stay he rested on the plinth and looked in at the window. The 
building was quite full of people belonging to that vast majority 
of society who are denied the art of articulating their higher 
emotions, and crave dumbly for a fugleman — respectably dressed 
working people, whose faces and forms were worn and con- 
torted by years of dreary toil. On a platform at the end of the 
chapel a haggard man of more than middle age, with grey 
whiskers ascetically cut back from the fore part of his face so 
far as to be almost banished from the countenance, stood read- 
ing a chapter. Between the minister and the congregation was 
an open space, and in the floor of this was sunk a tank full of 
water, which just made its surface visible above the blackness 
of its depths by reflecting the lights overhead. 

After glancing miscellaneously at the assemblage for some 
moments Somerset endeavoured to discover which one among 
them was to be the subject of the ceremony. But nobody 
appeared there who was at all out of the region of common- 
place. The people were all quiet and settled ; yet he could 
discern on their feces something more than attention, though it 
was less than excitement : perhaps it was expectation. And as 
if to bear out his surmise he heard at that moment the noise of 
wheels behind him, which led him to turn his head. 

His gaze into the lighted chapel made what had been an 
evening scene when he looked away from the landscape nigh/ 


A LAODICEAN. 


10 

itself on looking back ; but he could see enough to discover 
that a brougham had driven up to the side-door used by the 
young water-bearers, and that a lady in white-and-black half- 
mourning was in the act of alighting, followed by what appeared 
to be a waiting-woman carrying wraps. They entered the 
vestry-room of the chapel, and the door was shut. The service 
went on as before till at a certain moment the door between 
vestry and chapel was opened, when a woman came out clothed 
in an ample robe of flowing white, which descended to her feet. 
Somerset was unfortunate in his position ; he could not see her 
face, but her gait suggested at once that she was the lady who 
had arrived just before. She was rather tall than otherwise, and 
the contour of her head and shoulders denoted a girl in the 
heyday of youth and activity. His imagination, stimulated by 
this beginning, set about filling in the meagre outline with most 
attractive details. 

She stood upon the brink of the pool, and the minister 
descended the steps at its edge till the soles of his shoes were 
moistened with the water. He turned to the young candidate, 
but she did not follow him : instead of doing so she remained 
rigid as a stone. He stretched out his hand, but she still 
showed reluctance, till, with some embarrassment, he went back, 
and spoke softly in her ear, afterwards saying in a voice audible 
to all who were near, “ You will descend ? ” 

She approached the edge, looked into the water, and gently 
turned away. Somerset could for the first time see her face. 
Though humanly imperfect, as is every face we see, it was one 
which made him think that the best in woman-kind no less 
-than the best in psalm-tunes had gone over to the Dissenters. 
He had certainly seen nobody so interesting in his tour 
hitherto ; she was about twenty or twenty-one — perhaps 
twenty-three, for years have a way of stealing marches even 
upon Beauty’s anointed. The total dissimilarity between the 
expression of her lineaments and that of the countenances 
around her was not a little surprising, and was productive of 
hypotheses without measure as to how she came there. She 
was, in fact, emphatically a modern type of maidenhood, and 
she looked ultra-modern by reason of her environment : a 
presumably sophisticated being among the simple ones — not 
wickedly so, but one who knew life fairly well for her age. Her 
hair, of good English brown, neither light nor dark, was 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


ii 


abundant — too abundant for convenience in tying, as it seemed ; 
and it threw off the lamp-light in a hazy lustre. As before 
observed, it could not be said of her features that this or that 
was flawless — quite the contrary, indeed; but the nameless 
charm of them altogether was only another instance of how 
beautiful a woman can be as a whole without attaining in any 
one detail to the lines marked out as absolutely correct. The 
spirit and the life were there : and material shapes could be 
disregarded. 

This was all that could be gleaned of her : whatever moral 
characteristics it might be the surface of, enough was shown to 
assure Somerset that she had some experience of things far 
removed from her present circumscribed horizon, and could 
live, and was even at that moment living, a clandestine, 
stealthy inner life which had very little to do with her present 
outward one. The repression of nearly every external sign of 
that distress under which Somerset knew, by a sudden intuitive 
sympathy, that she was labouring, added strength to these 
convictions. 

“ And you refuse ? ” said the astonished minister, as she still 
stood immovable on the brink of the pool. He added to the 
force of his pleading by persuasively taking her sleeve between 
his finger and thumb as if to draw her ; but she resented this 
by a quick movement of displeasure, and he released her, 
seeing that he had gone too far. 

“ But, my dear lady,” he whispered, “you promised ! Consider 
your profession, and that you stand in the eyes of the whole 
church as an exemplar of your faith.” 

“ I cannot do it ! ” 

“ But your father’s memory, miss ; his last dying request ! ” 

“ I cannot help it,” she said, turning to get away. 

“ You came here with the intention to fulfil the Word ? ” 

“ But I was mistaken.” 

“ Then why did you come ? ” 

She tacitly implied that to be a question she did not care to 
answer. “ Please say no more to me,” she murmured, and 
hastened to withdraw. 

During this unexpected dialogue (which had distinctly 
reached Somerset’s ears, the windows standing open for 
ventilation, and his perch being close behind the speakers) that 
young man’s feelings had flown hither and thither between 


12 


A LAODICEAN. 


minister and lady in a most capricious manner : it had seemed 
at one moment a rather uncivil thing of her, charming as she 
was, to give the minister and the water-bearers so much trouble 
for nothing; the next, it seemed like reviving the ancient 
cruelties of the ducking-stool to try to force a girl into that dark 
water if she had not a mind to it. But the minister was not 
without insight, and he had seen that it would be useless to say 
more. The crestfallen old man had to turn round upon the 
congregation and declare officially that the baptism was post- 
poned. 

She passed through the door into the vestry. _ During the 
exciting moments of her recusancy there had been a percept- 
ible flutter among the sensitive members of the congregation ; 
nervous Dissenters seeming to be at one with nervous Episcopa- 
lians in this at least, that they heartily disliked a scene during 
service. Calm was restored to their minds by the minister 
starting a rather long hymn in minims and semibreves, amid 
the singing of which he ascended the pulpit. His face had a 
severe and even denunciatory look as he gave out his text, and 
Somerset began to understand that this meant mischief to the 
person who had caused the hitch. 

“ In the third chapter of Revelation and the fifteenth and 
following verses, you will find these words : 

“ 1 1 know thy works , that thou art neither cold nor hot : 1 
would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm , 
and ?ieither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth. . . . 
Thou sayest, I am rich , and increased with goods, and have need 
of nothing ; and knowest not that thou art wretched, and 
miserable , and poor, and blind, and naked.' " 

The sermon straightway began, and went on, and it was 
soon apparent that the commentary was to be no less forcible 
than the text. It was also apparent that the words were, 
virtually, not directed forward in the line in which' they were 
uttered, but through the chink of the vestry-door, that had stood 
slightly ajar since the exit of the young lady. The listeners 
appeared to feel this no less than Somerset did, for their eyes, 
one and all, became fixed upon that vestry door as if they would 
almost push it open by the force of their gazing. The 
preacher’s heart was full and bitter ; no book or note was 
wanted by him; never was spontaneity more absolute than 
here. His enthusiasm had been suddenly made to take a 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


13 


negative turn by pressure of unexpected circumstances. It was 
no timid reproof of the ornamental kind, but a direct denuncia- 
tion, all the more vigorous perhaps from the limitation of mind 
and language under which the speaker laboured. Yet fool 
that he had been made by the candidate there was nothing 
acrid in his attack. Genuine flashes of rhetorical fire were 
occasionally struck by that plain and simple man, who knew 
what straightforward conduct was, and who did not know the 
illimitable caprice of a woman’s mind. 

At this moment there was not in the whole chapel a person 
whose imagination was not centred on what was invisibly 
taking place within the vestry door. The thunder of the 
ministers eloquence echoed, of course, through the weak 
sister’s cavern of retreat no less than round the public assembly. 
What she was doing inside there — whether listening contritely, 
or haughtily hastening to get away from the chapel and all it 
contained — was obviously the thought of each member. What 
changes were tracing themselves upon that lovely face : did it 
rise to phases of Raffaelesque resignation, or sink so low as to 
flush and frown ? was Somerset’s inquiry ; and a half-explana- 
tion occurred when, during the discourse, the door which had 
been ajar was gently pushed to. 

Looking on as a stranger it seemed to him more than 
probable that this young woman’s power of persistence in her 
unexpected repugnance to the rite was strengthened by wealth 
and position of some sort, and was not the unassisted gift of 
nature. The manner of her arrival, and her dignified bearing 
before the assembly, strengthened the belief. A woman who 
did not feel something extraneous to her mental self to fall back 
upon would be so far overawed by the people and the crisis as 
not to retain sufficient resolution for a change of mind. 

The sermon ended, the minister wiped his steaming face and 
turned down his cuffs, and nods and sagacious glances went 
round. Yet many, even of those who had presumably passed 
the same ordeal with credit, exhibited gentler judgment than 
the preacher’s on a tergiversation of which they had probably 
recognised some germ in their own bosoms when in the lady’r 
situation. 

For Somerset there was but one scene : the imagined scene 
of the girl herself as she sat alone in the vestry. The fervent 
congregation rose to sing again, and then Somerset heard a 


*4 


A LAODICEAN. 


slight noise on his left hand w hich caused him to turn his head. 
The brougham, which had retired into the field to wait, was 
back again at the door : the subject of his rumination came out 
from the chapel — not in her mystic robe of white, but dressed 
in ordinary fashionable costume — followed as before by the 
attendant with other articles of clothing on her arm, including 
the white gown. Somerset fancied that the younger woman 
was drying her eyes with her handkerchief, but there was not 
much time to see : they quickly entered the carriage, and it 
moved on. Then a cat suddenly mewed, and he saw a white 
Persian standing forlorn where the carriage had been. The 
door was opened, the cat taken in, and the carriage drove 
away. 

The young stranger s form stamped itself deeply on 
Somerset’s soul. He strolled on his way quite oblivious to the 
fact that the moon had just risen, and that the landscape was 
one for him to linger over, especially if there were any Gothic 
architecture in the line of the lunar rays. The inference was 
that though this girl must be of a serious turn of mind, caprice 
was not foreign to her composition : and upon the whole it 
was probable that her daily doings evinced without much 
abatement the unbroken spirit and pride of life natural to her 
age. 

The little village inn at which Somerset intended to pass the 
night lay two miles further on, and retracing his way up to the 
stile he rambled along the lane, now beginning to be streaked 
like a zebra with the shadows of some young trees that edged 
the road. But his attention was attracted to the other side of 
the way by a hum as of a night-bee, which arose from the play 
of the breezes over a single wire of telegraph running parallel 
with his track on tall poles that had appeared by the road, he 
hardly knew when, from a branch route, probably leading from 
some town in the neighbourhood to the village he was ap- 
proaching. He did not know the population of Sleeping- 
Green, as the village of his search was called, but the presence 
of this mark of civilisation seemed to signify that its in- 
habitants were not quite so far in the rear of their age as might 
be imagined ; a glance at the still ungrassed heap of earth 
round the foot of each post was, however, sufficient to show 
that it was at no very remote period that they had made their 
advance. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


*5 


Aided by this friendly wire Somerset had no difficulty in 
keeping his course, till he reached a point in the ascent of a 
hill at which the telegraph branched off from the road, passing 
through an opening in the hedge, to strike across an undulating 
down, while the road wound round to the left. For a few 
moments Somerset doubted and stood still : the cut over the 
down had no mark of a path or drive, but on the other hand 
it might be a shorter though steeper way to the same place. 
The wire sang on overhead with dying falls and melodious 
rises that invited him to follow; while above the wire rode 
the stars in their courses, the low noctum of the former seeming 
to be the voices of those stars, 

Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubim. 

Recalling himself from these reflections Somerset decided to 
follow the lead of the wire. It was not the first time during his 
present tour that he had found his way at night by the help of 
these musical threads which the post-office authorities had 
erected all over the country for quite another purpose than to 
guide belated travellers. Plunging with it across the down he 
soon came to a hedgeless road that entered a park or chase, 
which flourished in all its original wildness. Tufts of rushes 
and brakes of fern rose from the hollows, and the road was in 
places half overgrown with green, as if it had not been tended 
for many years ; so much so that, where shaded by trees, he 
found some difficulty in keeping it. Though he had noticed 
the remains of a deer-fence further back no deer were visible, 
and it was scarcely possible that there should be any in the 
existing state of things : but rabbits were multitudinous, every 
hillock being dotted with their seated figures till Somerset 
approached and sent them limping into their burrows. The road 
next wound round a clump of underwood beside which lay 
heaps of faggots for burning, and then there appeared against 
the sky the walls and towers of a castle, half ruin, half residence, 
standing on an eminence hard by. 

Somerset stopped to examine it. The castle was not ex- 
ceptionally large, but it had all the characteristics of its most 
important fellows. Irregular, dilapidated, and muffled in 
creepers as a great portion of it was, some part — a compara- 
tively modern wing as nearly as he could discover at a glance 
—was inhabited, for a light or two steadily gleamed from some 


i6 


A LAODICEAN. 


upper windows ; in others a reflection of the moon denoted 
that unbroken glass yet filled their casements. Over all rose 
the keep, a square solid tower apparently not much injured by 
wars or weather, and darkened with ivy on one side, wherein 
wings could be heard flapping uncertainly, as if they belonged 
to a bird unable to find a proper perch. Hissing noises super- 
vened, and then a hoot, proclaiming that a brood of young 
owls were residing there in the company of older ones. In 
spite of the habitable and more modern wing, neglect and de- 
cay had set their mark upon the outworks of the pile, unfitting 
them for a more positive light than that of the present hour. 

He walked up to a modern arch spanning the ditch — now 
dry and green — over which the drawbridge once had swung. 
The large door under the porter’s archway was closed and 
locked. While standing here the singing of the wire, which for 
the last few minutes he had quite forgotten, again struck upon 
his ear, and retreating to a convenient place he observed its 
final course : from the poles amid the trees it leaped across the 
moat, over the girdling wall, and thence by a tremendous 
stretch towards the keep where, to judge by sound, it vanished 
through an arrow-slit into the interior. This fossil of feudalism, 
then, was the journey’s-end of the wire, and not the village of 
Sleeping-Green. 

There was a certain unexpectedness in the fact that the hoary 
memorial of a stolid antagonism to the interchange of ideas, 
the monument of hard distinctions in blood and race, of deadly 
mistrust of one’s neighbour in spite of the Church’s teaching, 
and of a sublime unconsciousness of any other force than a 
brute one, should be the goal of a machine which beyond 
everything may be said to symbolise cosmopolitan views and 
the intellectual and moral kinship of all mankind. In that 
light the little buzzing wire had a far finer significance to the 
student Somerset than the vast walls which neighboured it. 
But, on the other hand, the modern mental fever and fret which 
consumes people before they can grow old was also signified by 
the wire ; and this aspect of to-day did not contrast well (at 
least in his moonlight meditations) with the fairer side of 
feudalism — leisure, lighted-hearted generosity, intense friend- 
ships, hawks, hounds, revels, healthy complexions, freedom 
from care, and such a living power in architectural art as the 
world may never again see — civilisation having at present a 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


17 


stronger attachment to lath and plaster than to walls of a 
thickness sufficient for the perpetuation of grand ideas. 

Somerset withdrew till neither the singing of the wire nor 
the hisses of the irritable owls could be heard any more. A 
clock in the castle struck ten, and he recognised the strokes 
as those he had heard wheii sitting on the stile. It was in- 
dispensable that he should retrace his steps and push on to 
Sleeping-Green if he wished that night to reach his lodgings, 
which had been secured by letter at a little inn in the strag- 
gling line of roadside houses called by the above name, where 
his luggage had by this time probably arrived. In a quarter of 
an hour he was again at the point where the wire left the road, 
and following the highway over a hill he saw the hamlet at his 
feet. 


CHAPTER III. 

By half-past ten the next morning Somerset was once more 
approaching the precincts of the building which had interested 
him the night before. Referring to his map he had learnt that 
it bore the name of Stancy Castle or Castle de Stancy ; and he 
had been at once struck with its familiarity, though he had never 
understood its position in the county, believing it farther to 
the west. If report spoke truly there was some excellent 
vaulting in the interior, and a change of study from ecclesiastical 
to secular Gothic was not unwelcome for a while. 

The entrance-gate was open now, and under the archway the 
outer ward was visible, a great part of it being laid out as a 
flower-garden. This was in process of clearing from weeds and 
rubbish by a set of gardeners, and the soil was so encumbered 
that in rooting out the weeds such few hardy flowers as still 
remained in the beds were mostly brought up with them. The 
groove wherein the portcullis had run was as fresh as if only 
cut yesterday, the very tooling of the stone being visible. Close 
to this hung a bell-pull formed of a large wooden acorn attached 
to a vertical rod. Somerset’s application brought a woman from 
the porter’s door, who informed him that the day before having 
been the weekly show-day for visitors, it was doubtful if he 
could be admitted now. 

C 


i8 


A LAODICEAN. 


" Who is at home ? ” said Somerset 

“ Only Miss De Stancy,” the poiteress replied. 

To him Miss De Stancy seemed a great deal, and his dread 
of being considered an intruder was such that he thought at 
first there was no help for it but to wait till the next week. 
But before retreating many steps he changed his mind : he had 
already through his want of effrontery lost a sight of many 
interiors, whose exhibition would have been rather a satisfaction 
to the inmates than a trouble. It was inconvenient to wait : 
he knew nobody in the neighbourhood from whom he could get 
an introductory letter: he turned and passed the woman, 
crossed the ward where the gardeners were at work, over a 
second and smaller bridge, and up a flight of stone stairs, open to 
the sky, along whose steps sunburnt Tudor soldiers and other 
renowned dead men had doubtless many times walked. It led 
to the principal door on this side. Thence he could observe 
the walls of the lower court in detail, and the old mosses with 
which they were padded — mosses that from time immemorial had 
been burnt brown every summer, and every winter had grown 
green again. The arrow-slit and the electric wire that entered 
it, like a worm uneasy at being unearthed, were distinctly 
visible now. So also was the clock, not, as he had supposed, 
a chronometer coeval with the fortress itself, but new and 
shining, and bearing the name of a recent maker. 

The door was opened by a bland, intensely shaven man 
out of livery, who took Somerset’s name and politely worded 
request to be allowed to inspect the architecture of the more 
public portions of the castle. He pronounced the word 
“ architecture ” in the tone of a man who knew and practised 
that art; “for,” he said to himself, “if she thinks I am a mere 
idle tourist, it will not be so well 99 

No such uncomfortable consequences ensued. Miss De 
Stancy had great pleasure in giving Mr. Somerset full permission 
to walk through whatever parts of the building he chose. 

It was as if he had come from winter to summer at this 
intelligence. He followed the butler into the inner buildings 
of the fortress, the ponderous thickness of whose walls made 
itself felt like a physical pressure. An internal stone staircase, 
ranged round four sides of a square, was next revealed, leading 
at the top of one flight into a spacious hall, which seemed to 
occupy the whole area of the keep. From this apartment a 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


19 


corridor floored with black oak led to the more modern wing, 
where light and air were treated in a less gingerly fashion. 

Here passages were broader than in the oldest portion, and 
upholstery enlisted in the service of the fine arts hid to a great 
extent the coldness of the walls. 

Somerset was now left to himself, and roving freely from 
room to room he found time to inspect the different objects of 
interest that abounded there. Not all the chambers, even of 
the habitable division, were in use as dwelling-rooms, though 
these were still numerous enough for the wants of an ordinary 
country family. In a long gallery with a coved ceiling of 
arabesques which had once been gilded, hung a series of paint- 
ings representing the past personages of the De Stancy line. 
It was a remarkable array — even more so on account of the 
incredibly neglected condition of the canvases than for the 
artistic peculiarities they exhibited. Many of the frames were 
dropping apart at their angles, and some of the canvas was so 
dingy that the face of the person depicted was only distinguish- 
able as the moon through mist. For the colour they had now 
they might have been painted during an eclipse ; while to 
judge by the webs tying them to the wall, the spiders that ran 
up and down their backs were such as to make the fair originals 
shudder in their graves. 

He wondered how many of the lofty foreheads and smiling 
lips of this pictorial pedigree could be credited as true reflec- 
tions of their prototypes. Some were wilfully false, no doubt ; 
many more so by unavoidable accident and want of skill 
Somerset felt that it required a profounder mind than his to 
disinter from the lumber of conventionality the lineaments that 
really sat in the painter’s presence, and to discover their history 
behind the curtain of mere tradition. Perhaps a true account 
of the sweetest and softest among those who looked so de- 
murely at him over their pearl necklaces were a story which, 
related in its bareness, would be hardly credible to the more 
self-repressing natures of the present day. 

The painters of this long collection were those who usually 
appear in such places; Holbein, Jansen, and Vandyck; Sir 
Peter, Sir Geoffrey, Sir Joshua, and Sir Thomas. Their sitters, 
too, had mostly been sirs ; Sir William, Sir John, or Sir George 
De Stancy — some undoubtedly having a nobility stamped upon 
them beyond that conferred by their robes and orders ; and 

C 2 


20 


A LAODICEAN. 


others not so fortunate. Their respective ladies hung by cheir 
sides — feeble and watery, or fat and comfortable, as the case 
might be ; also their fathers and mothers-in-law, their brothers 
and remoter relatives ; their contemporary reigning princes, 
and their intimate friends. Of the De Stancys pure there ran 
through the collection a mark by which they might surely have 
been recognised as members of one family ; this feature being 
the upper part of the nose. Every one, even if lacking other 
points in common, had the special indent at this point in the 
face — sometimes moderate in degree, sometimes excessive. 

While looking at the pictures — which, though not in his 
regular line of study, interested Somerset more than the archi- 
tecture, because of their singular dilapidation, it occurred to 
his mind that he had in his youth been schoolfellow for a very 
short time with a pleasant boy bearing a surname attached to 
one of the paintings — the name of Ravensbury. The boy had 
vanished he knew not how — he thought he had been removed 
from school suddenly on account of ill health. But the recol- 
lection was vague, and Somerset moved on to the rooms above 
and below. In addition to the architectural details of which 
he had as yet obtained but glimpses, there was a great collec- 
tion of old movables and other domestic art-work — all more 
than a century old, and mostly lying as lumber. There were 
suites of tapestry hangings, common and fine; green and 
scarlet leather-work, on which the gilding was still but little 
injured ; venerable damask curtains ; quilted silk table-covers, 
ebony cabinets, worked satin window-cushions, carved bed- 
steads, and embroidered bed-furniture which had apparently 
screened no sleeper for these many years. Downstairs there 
was also an interesting collection of armour, together with 
several huge trunks and coffers. A great many of them had 
been recently taken out and cleaned, as if a long dormant 
interest in them were suddenly revived. Doubtless they were 
those which had been used by the living originals of the 
phantoms that looked down from the frames. 

This excellent hoard of suggestive designs for woodwork, 
metal-work, and work of other sorts, induced Somerset to 
divert his studies from the ecclesiastical direction in which they 
had flowed too exclusively of late, to acquire some new ideas 
from the objects here for domestic application. Yet for the 
present he was inclined to keep his sketch-book closed and his 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


21 


ivory rule folded, and devote himself to a general survey. 
Emerging from the ground-floor by a small doorway, he found 
himself on a terrace to the north-east, and on the other side' 
than that by which he had entered. It was bounded by a 
parapet breast high, over which a view of the distant country 
met the eye, stretching from the foot of the slope to a distance 
of many miles. Somerset went and leaned over, and looked 
down upon the tops of the bushes beneath. The prospect 
included the village he had passed through on the previous 
day : and amidst the green lights and shades of the meadows 
he could discern the red brick chapel whose recalcitrant in- 
mate had so engrossed him. 

Before his attention had long strayed over the incident 
which romanticised that utilitarian structure, he became aware 
that he was not the only person who was looking from the 
terrace towards that point of the compass. At the right-hand 
corner, in a niche of the curtain-wall, reclined a girlish shape ; 
and asleep on the bench over which she leaned was a white 
cat — the identical Persian as it seemed — that had been taken 
into the carriage at the chapel-door. 

By a natural train of thought Somerset began to muse on the 
probability or otherwise of the backsliding Baptist and this 
young lady resulting in one and the same person ; and almost 
without knowing it he found himself deeply hoping for such a 
charming unity. It was hoping quite out of bounds ; yet at 
the present moment it was impossible to say they were not the 
same. The object of his inspection was idly leaning, and this 
somewhat disguised her figure. It might have been tall or 
short, curvilinear or angular. She carried a light sunshade 
which she fitfully twirled until, thrusting it back over her 
shoulder, her head was revealed sufficiently to show that she 
wore no hat or bonnet. This token of her being an inmate of 
the castle, and not a visitor, as Somerset had conjectured, 
rather damped his expectations : but so unreasonable is hope, 
particularly when allied with a young man’s fancy, that he per- 
sisted in believing her look towards the chapel must have a 
meaning in it, till she suddenly stood erect, and revealed her- 
self as short in stature — almost dumpy — at the same time 
giving him a distinct view of her profile. She was not at all 
like the heroine of the chapel ; he saw the dinted nose of the 
De Stancys distinctly outlined with Holbein shadowlessness 


22 


A LAODICEAN. 


against the blue-green of the distant wood. But it was not the 
De Stancy face with all its original specialities : it was, so to 
speak, a defective reprint of that face : for the nose tried hard 
to turn up and deal utter confusion to the family shape. 

As for the rest of the countenance, Somerset was obliged to 
own that it was not beautiful : Nature had done there many 
things that she ought not to have done, and left undone much 
that she should have executed. It would have been decidedly 
plain but for a precious quality which no perfection of chiselling 
can give when the temperament denies it, and which no facial 
irregularity can take away — a tender affectionateness which 
might almost be called yearning ; such as is often seen in all 
its intensity in the women of Correggio when they are painted 
in profile, and which a slight elevation of the lower part of her 
face helped to accentuate. Perhaps the plain features of Miss 
De Stancy — who she undoubtedly was — were rather severely 
handled by Somerset’s judgment owing to his impression of the 
previous night. And, indeed, a beauty of a sort would have 
been lent by the flexuous contours of the mobile parts but for 
that unfortunate condition the poor girl was burdened with, of 
having to hand on a traditional feature with which she did not 
find herself otherwise in harmony. 

She glanced at him for a moment in turning, and presently 
showed by an imperceptible movement that he had made his 
presence felt. Not to embarrass her, if it were true, as it 
seemed, that she was not much accustomed to strangers, 
Somerset instantly hastened to withdraw, at the same time that 
she passed round to the other part of the terrace, followed by 
the cat, in whom Somerset could imagine a certain denomi- 
national cast of countenance, notwithstanding her company. 
But as white cats are much like each other at a distance, it 
was reasonable to suppose this creature was not the same one 
as that possessed by the beauty. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


23 


CHAPTER IV. 

He descended the stone stairs to a lower story of the castle, 
in which was a crypt-like hall covered by vaulting of except 
tional and massive ingenuity : 

Built ere the art was known. 

By pointed aisle and shafted stalk 
The arcades of an alleyed walk 
To emulate in stone. 

It happened that the central pillar whereon the vaults rested, 
reputed to exhibit some of the most hideous grotesques in 
England upon its capital, had been enclosed with a modern 
partition, cutting off a portion of the large area for domestic 
purposes. A locked door barred Somerset’s ingress, and he 
was tempted to ask a servant for permission to open it till he 
heard that the inner room was temporarily used for plate, the 
key being kept by Miss De Stancy, at which Somerset said no 
more. But afterwards he heard the active housemaid re- 
descending the stone steps ; she entered the crypt with a 
bunch of keys in one hand, and in the other a candle, followed 
by the young lady whom Somerset had seen on the terrace. 
The servant advanced with the key, but the young lady stood 
back ; he saw that something hung upon her lips to say to 
him which she could not get off ; he slightly bowed to en- 
courage her. 

“ I shall be very glad to unlock anything you may want to 
see,” she now found tongue to say. “ So few people take any 
real interest in what is here that we do not leave it open.” 

Somerset expressed his thanks. 

Miss De Stancy, a little to his surprise, had a touch of 
rusticity in her manner, and that forced absence of reserve 
which seclusion from society lends to young women more 
frequently than not She seemed glad to have something to 
do ; the arrival of Somerset was plainly an event sufficient to 
set some little mark upon her day. Deception had been 


*4 


A LAODICEAN. 


written on the faces of those frowning walls in their implying 
the insignificance of Somerset, when he found them tenanted 
only by this little woman whose life was narrower than his 
own. 

“ We have not been here long,” continued Miss De Stancy, 
“ and that’s why everything is in such a dilapidated and con- 
fused condition.” 

Somerset entered the dark store-closet, thinking less of the 
ancient pillar revealed by the light of the candle than what a 
singular remark the latter was to come from a member of the 
family which appeared to have been there five centuries. He 
held the candle above his head, and walked round, and 
presently Miss De Stancy came back. 

“ There is another vault below,” she said, with the severe 
face of a young woman who speaks only because it is absolutely 
necessary. “ Perhaps you are not aware of it ? It was the 
dungeon : if you wish to go down there too, the servant will 
show you the way. It is not at all ornamental : rough, unhewn 
arches and clumsy piers.”, 

Somerset thanked her, and would perhaps take advantage of 
her kind offer when he had examined the spot where he was, if 
it were not causing inconvenience. 

“ No ; I am sure Paula will be glad to know that anybody 
thinks it interesting to go down there — which is more than she 
does herself.” 

Some obvious inquiries were suggested by this, but Somerset 
said, “ I have seen the pictures, and have been much struck by 
them ; partly,” he added, with some hesitation, “ because one 
or two of them reminded me of a schoolfellow — I think his 
name was John Ravensbury?” 

“ Yes,” she said, almost eagerly. “ He was my cousin 1 ” 

“ So that we are not quite strangers ? ” 

“ But he is dead now. ... He was unfortunate : he was 
mostly spoken of as ‘ that unlucky boy.’ . . . You know, I 
suppose, Mr. Somerset, why the paintings are in such a decay- 
ing state ? — it is owing to the peculiar treatment of the castle 
during Mr. Wilkins’s time. He was blind ; so one can imagine 
he did not appreciate such things as there are here.” 

“ The castle has been shut up, you mean ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, for many years. But it will not be so again. We 
are going to have the pictures cleaned, and the frames mended, 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


*5 


and the old pieces of furniture put in their proper places. It 
will be very nice then. Did you see those in the east 
closet?” 

“ I have only seen those in the gallery.” 

“ I will just show you the way to the others, if you would 
like to see them ? ” 

They ascended to the room designated the east closet. The 
paintings here, mostly of smaller size, were in a better condi- 
tion, owing partly to the fact that they were hung on an inner 
wall, and had hence been kept comparatively free from damp. 
Somerset inquired the names and histories of one or two. 

“ I really don’t quite know,” Miss De Stancy replied after 
some thought. “ But Paula knows, I am sure. I don’t study 
them much — I don’t see the use of it.” She swung her sun- 
shade, so that it fell open, and turned it up till it fell shut. “ I 
have never been able to give much attention to ancestors,” she 
added, with her eyes on the parasol. 

“ These are your ancestors ? ” he asked, for her position and 
tone were matters which perplexed him. In spite of the family 
likeness and other details he could scarcely believe this frank 
and communicative country maiden to be the modern repre- 
sentative of the De Stancy s. 

“ Oh, yes, they certainly are,” she said laughing. “ People 
say I am like them : I don’t know if I am — well, yes, I know 
I am : I can see that, of course, any day. But they have gone 
from my family, and perhaps it is just as well that they should 
have gone. . . . They are useless,” she added, with serene 
conclusiveness. 

“ Ah ! they have gone, have they ? ” 

“ Yes, castle and furniture went together : it was long ago — 
long before I was born. It doesn’t seem to me as if the place 
ever belonged to a relative of mine.” 

Somerset corrected his smiling manner to one of solicitude. 

“ But you live here, Miss De Stancy ? ” 

“ Yes — a great deal now ; though sometimes I go home to 
sleep.” 

“ This is home to you, and not home ? ” 

“ I live here with Paula — my friend : I have not been here 
long, neither has she. For the first six months after her 
father’s death she did not come here at all.” 

They walked gazing at the walls, till the young man 


i6 


A LAODICEAN. 


said, as if he were rather speaking of the portrait over which 
his eyes were playing than of her previous statement : “ I fear 
I may be making some mistake : but I am sure you will pardon 
my inquisitiveness this once. Who is Paula ? ” 

“ Ah, you don’t know ! Of course you don’t — local changes 
don’t get talked of far away. She is the owner of this castle 
and estate. My father sold it when he was quite a young man, 
years before I was born, and not long after his father’s death. 
It was purchased by a man named Wilkins, a rich man who 
became blind soon after he had bought it, and never lived 
here ; so it was left uncared for.” 

She went out upon the terrace ; and without exactly knowing 
why, Somerset followed. 

“ Your friend ” 

“Has only come here quite recently. She is away from 
home to-day. ... It was very sad,” murmured the young girl 
thoughtfully. “No sooner had Mr. Power bought it of the 
representatives of Mr. Wilkins — almost immediately indeed — 
than he died from a chill caught after a warm bath. On ac- 
count of that she did not take possession for several months ; 
and even now she has only had a few rooms prepared as a 
temporary residence till she can think what to do. Poor thing, 
it is sad to be left alone ! ” 

Somerset heedfully remarked that he thought he recognised 
that name Power, as one he had seen lately, somewhere or 
other. 

“ Perhaps you have been hearing of her father. Do you 
know what he was ? ” 

Somerset did not. 

She looked across the distant country, where undulations of 
dark-green foliage formed a prospect extending for miles. And 
as she watched, and Somerset’s eyes, led by hers, watched also, 
a white streak of steam, thin as a cotton thread, could be 
discerned ploughing that green expanse. “ Her father made 
that” Miss De Stancy said, directing her finger towards the 
object. 

“ That what ? ” 

“That railway. He was Mr. John Power, the great railway 
contractor. And it was through making the railway that he 
discovered this castle — the railway was diverted a little on its 
account.” 


GEORGE SOMERSET, \ 


27 


u A clash between ancient and modem.” 

“ Yes, but he took an interest in the locality long before he 
purchased the estate. And he built the people a chapel on a 
bit of freehold he bought for them. He was a staunch Baptist 
up to the day of his death — a much stauncher one,” she said 
significantly, “ than his daughter is.” 

“ Ah, I begin to spot her ! ” 

“ You have heard about the baptism?” 

“ I know something of it.” 

“Her conduct has given mortal offence to the scattered 
people of the denomination that her father was at such pains to 
unite into a body, and build a chapel for.” 

Somerset could guess the remainder, and in thinking over the 
circumstances did not state what he had seen. She added, as 
if disappointed at his want of curiosity : 

“ She would not submit to the rite when it came to the point. 
The water looked so cold and dark and fearful, she said, that 
she could not do it to save her life.” 

“Surely she should have known her mind before she had 
gone so far?” Somerset’s words had a condemnatory form, 
but perhaps his actual feeling was that if Miss Power had 
known her own mind, she would have not interested him half 
so much. 

“ Paula’s own mind had nothing to do with it ! ” said Miss 
De Stancy, warming up to staunch partisanship in a moment. 
“ It was all undertaken by her from a mistaken sense of duty. 
It was her father’s dying wish that she should make public pro- 
fession of her— what do you call it — of the denomination she 
belonged to, as soon as she felt herself fit to do it : so when 
he was dead she tried and tried, and didn’t get any more fit ; 
and at last she screwed herself up to the pitch, and thought she 
must undergo the ceremony out of pure reverence for his memory. 
It was very short-sighted of her father to put her in such a 
position ; because she is now very sad, as he feels she can never 
try again after such a sermon as was delivered against her.” 

Somerset presumed that Miss Power need not have heard 
this Knox or Bossuet of hers if she had chosen to go away ? 

“ She did not hear it in the face of the congregation ; but 
from the vestry. She told me some of it when she reached 
home. Would you believe it, the man who preached so 
bitterly is a tenant of hers ? I said, ‘ Surely you will turn him 

Yol 7 (B) 


28 


A LAODICEAN. 


out of his house?’— But she answered, in her calm, deep, nice 
way, that she supposed he had a perfect right to preach against 
her, that she could not in justice molest him at all. I wouldn’t 
let him stay if the house were mine. But she has often before 
allowed him to scold her from the pulpit in a smaller way — 
once it was about an expensive dress she had worn — not 
mentioning her by name, you know ; but all the people are 
quite aware that it is meant for her, because only one person 
of her wealth or position belongs to the Baptist body in this 
county.” 

Somerset was looking at the homely affectionate face of the 
little speaker. “You are her good friend, I am sure,” he 
remarked. 

She looked into the distant air with tacit admission of the 
impeachment. “ So would you be if you knew her,” she said ; 
and a blush slowly rose to her cheek, as if the person spoken 
of had been a lover rather than a friend. 

“ But you are not a Baptist any more than I ?” continued 
Somerset. 

“ Oh no. And I never knew one till I knew Paula. I 
think they are very nice ; though I sometimes wish Paula was 
not one, but the religion of reasonable persons.” 

They walked on, and came opposite to where the telegraph 
emerged from the trees, leaped over the parapet, and up 
through the loophole into the interior. 

“ That looks strange in such a building,” said her companion. 

“ Miss Power had it put up to know the latest news from 
town. It costs six pounds a mile. She can work it herself, 
beautifully : and so can I, but not so well. It was a great 
delight to learn. Miss Power was so interested at first that 
she was sending messages from morning till night. And did 
you hear the new clock ? ” 

“ Oh ! is it a new one ? — Yes, I heard it” 

“ The old one was quite worn out ; so Paula has put it in the 
cellar, and had this new one made, though it still strikes on the 
old bell. It tells the seconds, but the old one, which my very ' 
great grandfather erected in the eighteenth century, only told 
the hours. Paula says that time, being so much more valuable 
now, must of course be cut up into smaller pieces.” 

“ She does not appear to be much impressed by the spirit of 
this ancient pile.” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 29 

Miss De Stancy shook her head too slightly to express ab- 
solute negation. 

“ Do you wish to come through this door ? ” she asked. 
“ There is a singular chimney-piece in the kitchen, which is 
considered a unique example of its kind, though I myself don't 
know enough about it to have an opinion on the subject.” 

When they had looked at the corbelled chimney-piece they 
returned to the hall, where his eye was caught anew by a large 
map that he had conned for some time when alone, without 
being able to divine the locality represented. It was called 
“ General Plan of the Town,” and showed streets and open 
spaces corresponding with nothing he had seen in the county. 

“ Is that town here ? ” he asked. 

“ It is not anywhere but in Paula’s brain ; she has laid it out 
from her own design. The site is supposed to be near our 
railway-station, just across there, where the land belongs to her. 
She is going to grant cheap building leases, and develop the 
manufacture of pottery.” 

“ Pottery — how very practical she must be ! ” 

“ Oh no ! no ! ” replied Miss De Stancy in tones showing 
how supremely ignorant he must be of Miss Power’s nature if 
he characterised her in those terms. “ It is Greek pottery she 
means — Hellenic pottery she tells me to call it, only I forget. 
There is beautiful clay at the place, her father told her : he found 
it in making the railway tunnel. She has visited the British 
Museum, continental museums, and Greece, and Spain : and 
hopes to imitate the old fictile work in time, especially the 
Greek of the best period, four hundred years after Christ, or 
before Christ — I forget which it was Paula said, . . . Oh no, 
she is not practical in the sense you mean, at all.” 

“ A mixed young lady, rather,” 

Miss De Stancy appeared unable to settle whether this new 
definition of her dear friend should be accepted as kindly, or 
disallowed as decidedly sarcastic. “ You would like her if you 
knew her,” she insisted, in half tones of pique ; after which 
she walked on a few steps. 

“ I think very highly of her,” said Somerset. 

“ And I ! And yet at one time I could never have believed 
that I should have been her friend. One is prejudiced at first 
against people who are reported to have such differences in 
feeling, associations, and habit, as she seemed to have from 


A LAODICEAN. 


3 « 

mine. But it has not stood in the least in the way of our 
liking each other. I believe the difference makes us the more 
united.” 

“ It says a great deal for the liberality of both,” answered 
Somerset warmly. “ Heaven send us more of the same sort of 
people ! They are not too numerous at present.” 

As this remark called for no reply from Miss De Stancy, she 
took advantage of an opportunity to leave him alone, first re- 
peating her permission to him to wander where he would. He 
walked about for some time, sketch-book in hand, but was con- 
scious that his interest did not lie much in the architecture. 
In passing along the corridor of an upper floor he observed an 
open door, through which was visible a room containing one of 
the finest Renaissance cabinets he had ever seen. It was im- 
possible, on close examination, to do justice to it in a hasty 
sketch ; it would be necessary to measure every line, and get 
impressions of every surface, if he would bring away anything 
of practical utility to him as a designer. Deciding to reserve 
this gem for another opportunity he cast his eyes round the 
room, and blushed a little. Without knowing it he had intruded 
into the absent Miss Paula’s own particular set of chambers, 
including a boudoir and sleeping apartment. On the tables of 
the sitting-room were most of the popular papers and periodicals 
that he knew, not only English, but from Paris, Italy, and 
America. Satirical prints, though they did not unduly prepon- 
derate, were not wanting. Besides these there were books 
from a London circulating library, paper-covered light literature 
in French and choice Italian, and the latest monthly reviews ; 
while between the two windows stood the telegraph apparatus 
whose wire had been the means of bringing him hither. 

These things, ensconced amid so much of the old and hoary, 
were as if a stray hour from the nineteenth century had 
wandered like a butterfly into the thirteenth, and lost itself 
there. 

The door between this ante-chamber and the sleeping-room 
stood open. Without venturing to cross the threshold, for he 
felt that he would be abusing hospitality to go so far, Somerset 
looked in for a moment. It was a pretty place, and seemed to 
have been hastily fitted up. In a corner, overhung by a blue 
and white canopy of silk, was a little cot, hardly large enough 
to impress the character of bedroom upon the old place. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


31 


Upon a counterpane lay a parasol and a silk neckerchief. On 
the other side of the room was a tall mirror of startling new- 
ness, draped like the bedstead, in blue and white. Thrown at 
random upon the floor was a pair of satin slippers that would 
have fitted Cinderella. A dressing-gown lay across a settee ; 
and opposite, upon a small easy-chair in the same blue and 
white livery, were a Bible, the Baptist Magazine, Wardlaw on 
Infant Baptism, Walford’s County Families, and the Court 
Journal. On and over the mantelpiece were nicknacks of 
various descriptions, and photographic portraits of the artistic, 
scientific, and literary celebrities of the day. 

A dressing-room lay beyond ; but, becoming conscious that 
his study of ancient architecture would hardly bear stretching 
further in that direction without injury to his morals, Mr. 
Somerset retreated to the outside, passing by, without notice, 
the gem of Renaissance that had led him in. 

“ She affects blue,” he was thinking. “ Then she is fair.” 

On looking up, some time later, at the new clock that told 
the seconds, he found that the time at his disposal for work had 
flown without his having transferred a single feature of the 
building or furniture to his sketch-book. He remained but a 
little longer that day. Before leaving he sent in for permission 
to come again, and then walked across the fields to the inn at 
Sleeping-Green, reflecting less upon Miss De Stancy (so little 
force of presence had she possessed) than upon the modern 
flower in a mediaeval flower-pot whom Miss De Stancy’s in- 
formation had so vividly brought before him, and upon the 
incongruities that were daily shaping themselves in the world 
under the great modern fluctuations of classes and creeds. 

Somerset was still full of the subject when he arrived at the 
end of his walk, and he fancied that some loungers at the bar 
of the inn were discussing the heroine of the chapel-scene just 
at the moment of his entry. On this account, when the land- 
lord came to clear away the dinner, Somerset was led to 
inquire of him, by way of opening a conversation, if there were 
many Baptists in the neighbourhood. 

The landlord (who was a serious man on the surface, though 
he occasionally smiled beneath) replied that there were a great 
many — far more than the average in country parishes. “ Even 
here, in my house, now,” he added, “ when folks get a drop of 
drink into ’em, and their feelings rise to a song, some man will 




32 


A LAODICEAN. 




strike up a hymn by preference. But I find no fault with 
that ; for though ’tis hardly human nature to be so calculating j 
in yer cups, a feller may as well sing to gain something as sing 
to waste.” 

“ How do you account for there being so many ? ” 

“ Well, you see, sir, some says one thing, and some another ; 

I think they does it to save the expense of a Christian burial 
for ther children. Now there’s a poor family out in Long Lane ■ 
— the husband used to smite for Jimmy More the blacksmith 
till ’a hurt his arm — they’d have no less than eleven children if 
they’d not been lucky t’other way, and buried five when they 
were three or four months old. Now every one of them 
children was given to the sexton in a little box that any j 
journeyman could nail together in a quarter of an hour, and he 
buried ’em at night for a shilling a head ; whereas ’twould have 
cost a couple of pounds each if they’d been christened at 
church. ... Of course there’s the new lady at the castle, she’s • 
a chapel member, and that may make a little difference ; but ■ 
she’s not been here long enough to show whether ’twill be 
worth while to join ’em for the profit o’t, or whether ’twill not. 
No doubt if it turns out that she’s of a sort to relieve folks in 
trouble, more will join her set than belongs to it already. ‘ Any 
port in a storm,’ of course, as the saying is.” 

“As for yourself, you are a Churchman at present, I pre- 
sume ? ” 

“Yes, sir, but I was a Methodist once — ay, for a length of J 
time. ’Twas owing to my taking a house next door to a 
chapel ; so that what with hearing the organ bizz like a bee * 
through the wall, and what with finding it saved umbrellas on t 
wet Sundays, I went over to that faith for two years— though I 
believe I dropped money by it — I wouldn’t be the man to say 
so if I hadn’t. Howsomever, when I moved into this house I 
turned back again to my old religion. Faith, I don’t see much 
difference : be you one, or be you t’other, you’ve got to get 
your living.” 

“ The De Stancys, of course, have not much influence here 
now, for that, or any other thing ? ” 

“Oh, no, no ; not any at all. They be very low upon 
ground, and always will be now, I suppose. It was thoughted 
worthy of being recorded in history — you’ve read it, sir, no 
doubt?” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


33 


“ Not a word.” 

“ Oh, then, you shall. I’ve got the history somewhere. 
’Twas gay manners that did it. The only bit of luck they 
have had of late years is Miss Power’s taking to little Miss De 
Stancy, and making her her company-keeper. I hope ’twill 
continue.’^ 

That the two daughters of these antipodean families should 
be such intimate friends was a situation which pleased Somer- 
set as much as it did the landlord. It was an engaging 
instance of that human progress on which he had expended 
many charming dreams in the years when poetry, theology, 
and the reorganisation of society had seemed matters of more 
importance to him than a profession which should help him to 
a big house and income, a fair De'iopeia, and a lovely progeny. 
When he was alone he poured out a glass of wine, and silently 
drank the healths of the two generous-minded young women 
who, in this lonely country district, had found sweet communion 
a necessity of life, and by pure and instinctive good sense had 
broken down a barrier which men thrice their age and repute 
would probably have felt it imperative to maintain. But 
perhaps this was premature : the omnipotent Miss Power’s 
character — practical or ideal, politic or impulsive — he as yet 
knew nothing of ; and giving over reasoning from insufficient 
data he lapsed into mere conjecture 


CHAPTER V. 

The next morning Somerset was again at the castle. He 
passed some considerable interval on the walls before en- 
countering Miss De Stancy, whom at last he observed going 
towards a pony-carriage that waited near the door. 

A smile gained strength upon her face at his approach, and 
she was the first to speak. “ I am sorry Miss Power has not 
returned,” she said to him, and proceeded to account for that 
lady’s absence by her distress at the event of two evenings 
earlier. 

“ But I have driven over to my father’s — Sir William De 


34 


A LAODICEAN. 


Stanc/s — house this morning,” she went on. “And on 
mentioning your name to him, I found he knew it quite well 
You will, will you not, forgive my ignorance in having no 
better knowledge of the elder Mr. Somerset’s works than a 
dim sense of his fame as a painter ? But I was going to say 
that my father would much like to include you in his personal 
acquaintance, and wishes me to ask if you will give him the 
pleasure of lunching with him to-day. My cousin John, 
whom you once knew, was a great favourite of his, and used to 
speak of you sometimes. It will be so kind if you can come. 
My father is an old man, out of society, and he would be glad 
to hear the news of town.” 

Somerset said he was glad to find himself among friends 
where he had only expected strangers ; and promised to come 
that day, if she would tell him the way. 

That she could easily do. The short way was across that 
glade he saw there — then over the stile into the wood, following 
the path till it came out upon the turnpike-road. He would 
then be almost close to the house. The distance was about 
two miles and a half. But if he thought it too far for a walk, 
she would drive on to the town, where she had been going 
when he came, and instead of returning straight to her father’s 
would come back and pick him up. 

It was not at all necessary, he thought He was a walker, 
and could find the path. 

At this moment a servant came to tell Miss De Stancy that 
the telegraph was calling her. 

“ Ah — it is lucky that I was not gone again ! ” she ex- 
claimed. “ John seldom reads it right if I am away.” 

It now seemed quite in the ordinary course that, as a friend 
of her father’s, he should accompany her to the instrument. 
So up they went together, and immediately on reaching it she 
applied her ear to the instrument, and began to gather the 
message. Somerset fancied himself like a person overlooking 
another’s letter, and moved aside. 

“ It is no secret,” she said, smiling. “ * Paula to Charlotte / 
it begins.” 

“ That’s very pretty.” 

“ Oh — and it is about — you,” murmured Miss De Stancy. 

“ Me ? ” The architect blushed a little. 

She made no answer, and the machine went on with its 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


35 


story. There was something curious in watching this utter- 
ance about himself, under his very nose, in language unintel- 
ligible to him. He conjectured whether it were inquiry, 
praise, or blame, with a sense that it might reasonably be the 
latter, as the result of his surreptitious look into that blue bed- 
room, possibly observed and reported by some servant of the 
house. 

“ ‘ Direct that every facility be given to Mr. Somerset to visit 
any part of the castle he may wish to see. On my return I shall 
be glad to welcome him as the acquaintance of your relatives. 1 
have two of his father’s pictures .’ ” 

“ Dear me, the plot thickens,” he said with surprise, as 
Miss De Stancy announced the words. “ How could she 
know about me ? ” 

“ I sent a message to her this morning when I saw you 
crossing the park on your way here — telling her that Mr. 
Somerset, son of the Academician, was making sketches of the 
castle, and that my father knew something of you. That’s her 
answer.” 

“ Where are the pictures by my father that she has pur 
chased ? ” 

“ Oh, not here — at least, not unpacked.” 

Miss De Stancy then left him to proceed on her journey to 
Markton (so the nearest little town was called), informing him 
that she would be at her father’s house to receive him at two 
o’clock. 

Just about one he closed his sketch-book, and set out in the 
direction she had indicated. At the entrance to the wood a 
man was at work, pulling down a rotten gate that bore on its 
battered lock the initials “ W. De S.” and erecting a new one 
whose ironmongery exhibited the letters “ P. P.” 

The warmth of the summer noon did not inconveniently 
penetrate the dense masses of foliage which now began to 
overhang the path, except in spots where a ruthless timber- 
felling had taken place in previous years for the purpose of 
sale. It was that particular half-hour of the day in which the 
birds of the forest prefer walking to flying ; and there being 
no wind, the hopping of the smallest songster over the dead 
leaves reached his ear from behind the undergrowth. The 
track had originally been a well-kept winding drive, but a deep 
carpet of moss and leaves overlaid it now, though the general 

D 2 


A LAODICEAN, 


3 ^ 

outline still remained to show that its curves had been set out 
with as much care as those of a lawn walk, and the gradient 
made easy for carriages where the natural slopes were great. 
Felled trunks occasionally lay across it, and alongside were 
the hollow and fungous boles of trees sawn down in long past 
years. 

After a walk of three-quarters of an hour he came to another 
gate, where the letters “ P. P.” again supplanted the historical 
“W. De S.” Climbing over this, he found himself on a 
highway which presently dipped down towards the town of 
Markton, a place he had never yet seen. It appeared in the 
distance as a quiet little borough of six or eight thousand 
inhabitants; and, without the town boundary on the side he 
was approaching, stood half a dozen genteel and modem 
houses, of the detached kind usually found in such suburbs. 
On inquiry, Sir William De Stancy’s residence was indicated as 
one of these. 

It was almost new, of streaked brick, having a central door, 
and a small bay window on each side to light the two front 
parlours. A little lawn spread its green surface in front, divided 
from the road by iron railings, the low line of shrubs im- 
mediately within them being coated with pallid dust from the 
highway. On the neat piers of the neat entrance gate were 
chiselled the words “ Myrtle Villa.” Genuine roadside 
respectability sat smiling on every brick of the eligible 
dwelling. 

“ How are the mighty fallen ! ” murmured Somerset, as he 
pulled the bell. 

Perhaps that which impressed him more than the mushroom 
modernism of Sir William De Stancy’s house was the air of 
healthful cheerfulness which pervaded it. Somerset was shown 
in by a neat maidservant in black gown and white apron, a 
canary singing a welcome from a cage in the shadow of the 
window, the voices of crowing cocks coming over the chimneys 
from somewhere behind, and sun and air riddling the house 
everywhere. 

Being a dwelling of those well-known and popular dimensions 
which allow the proceedings in the kitchen to be distinctly 
heard in the parlours, it was so planned that a raking view 
might be obtained through it from the front door to the end 
of the back garden. The drawing-room furniture wa« com- 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


37 


fortable, in the walnut-and-green-rep style of some years ago. 
Somerset had expected to find his friends living in an old house 
with remnants of their own antique furniture, and he hardly 
knew whether he ought to meet them with a smile or a gaze of 
condolence. His doubt was terminated, however, by the 
cheerful and tripping entry of Miss De Stancy, who had 
returned from her drive to Markton ; and in a few more 
moments Sir William came in from the garden. 

He was an old man of tall and spare build, with a 
considerable stoop, his glasses dangling against his waistcoat- 
buttons, and the front comers of his coat-tails hanging lower 
than the hinderparts, so that they swayed right and left as he 
walked. He nervously apologised to his visitor for having kept 
him waiting. 

“ I am so glad to see you,” he said, with a mild benevolence 
of tone, as he retained Somerset’s hand for a moment or two ; 
“ partly for your father’s sake, whom I met more than once in 
my younger days, before he became so well-known ; and also 
because I learn that you were a friend of my poor nephew 
John Ravensbury.” He looked over his shoulder to see if his 
daughter were within hearing; finding she was not, he bent 
towards Somerset, and, with the impulse of the solitary to 
make a confidence at the first opportunity, continued in a low 
tone: “She, poor girl, was to have married John: his death 
was a sad blow to her and to all of us. — Pray take a seat, 
Mr. Somerset” 

The reverses of fortune which had brought Sir William De 
Stancy to this comfortable cottage awakened in Somerset a 
warmer emotion than curiosity, and he sat down with a heart 
as responsive to each detail of speech uttered as if it had 
seriously concerned himself, while his host gave some words of 
information to his daughter on the trifling events that had 
marked the morning just passed ; such as that the cow had got 
out of the paddock into Miss Power’s field, that the smith who 
had promised to come and look at the kitchen range had not 
arrived, that two wasps’ nests had been discovered in the 
garden bank, and that Nick Jones’s baby had fallen downstairs. 
Sir William had large cavernous arches to his eye-sockets, 
reminding the beholder of the vaults in the castle he once had 
owned. His hands were long and almost fleshless, each 
knuckle showing like a bamboo-joint from beneath his coat- 


33 


A LAODICEAN. 


sleeves, which were small at the elbow and large at the wrist 
All the colour had gone from his beard and locks, except in the 
case of a few isolated hairs of the former, which retained dashes 
of their original shade at sudden points in their length, re- 
vealing that all had once been raven black. 

But to study a man to his face is a species of ill-nature which 
requires a colder temperament, or at least an older heart, than 
the architect’s was at that time, to carry it on long. Incurious 
unobservance is the true attitude of cordiality, and Somerset 
blamed himself for having fallen into an act of inspection even 
for so short a time. He would wait for his host’s conversation, 
which would doubtless be of the essence of historical romance. 

“ The favourable Bank-returns have made the money-market 
much easier to-day, as I learn ? ” said Sir William. 

“Oh, have they?” said Somerset. “Yes, I suppose they 
have.” 

“And something is meant by this unusual quietness in 
Foreign stocks since the late remarkable fluctuations,” insisted 
the old man, significantly. “ Is the current of speculation quite 
arrested, or is it but a temporary lull ? ” 

Somerset said he was afraid he could not give an opinion, 
and entered very lamely into the subject; but Sir William 
seemed to find sufficient interest in his own thoughts to do away 
with the necessity of acquiring fresh impressions from other 
people’s replies ; for often after putting a question he looked 
on the floor, as if the subject were at an end. Lunch was now 
ready, and when they were in the dining-room Miss De Stancy, 
to introduce a topic of more general interest, asked Somerset 
if he had noticed the myrtle on the lawn ? 

Somerset had noticed it, and thought he had never seen such 
a full-blown one in the open air before. His eyes were, how- 
ever, resting at the moment on the only objects at all out of the 
common that the dining-room contained. One was a singular 
glass case over the fireplace, within which were some large 
mediaeval door-keys, black with rust and age ; and the others 
were two full-length oil portraits in the costume of the end of 
the last century — so out of all proportion to the size of the 
room they occupied that they almost reached to the floor. 

“ Those originally belonged to the castle yonder,” said Miss 
De Stancy, or Charlotte, as her father called her, noticing 
Somerset’s glance at the keys. “They used to unlock the 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


39 


principal entrance-doors, which were knocked to pieces in the 
civil wars. New doors were placed afterwards, but the old keys 
were never given up, and have been preserved by us ever 
since.” 

“ They are quite useless — mere lumber — particularly to me,” 
said Sir William. 

“ And those huge paintings were a present from Paula,” she 
continued. “ They are portraits of my great-grandfather and 
mother. Paula would give all the old family pictures back to 
me if we had room for them ; but they would fill the house to 
the ceilings.” 

Sir William was impatient of the subject. “ What is the 
utility of such accumulations?” he asked. “Their originals 
are but clay now — mere forgotten dust, not worthy a moment’s 
inquiry or reflection at this distance of time. Nothing can re- 
tain the spirit, and why should we preserve the shadow of the 
form ? — London has been very full this year, sir, I have been 
told?” 

“ It has,” said Somerset, and he asked if they had been up 
that season. It was plain that the matter with which Sir 
William De Stancy least cared to occupy himself before visitors 
was the history of his own family, in which he was followed with 
more simplicity by his daughter Charlotte. 

“ No,” said the baronet. “ One might be led to think there 
is a fatality which prevents it. We make arrangements to go 
to town almost every year, to meet some old friend who 
combines the rare conditions of being in London with being 
mindful of me ; but he has always died or gone elsewhere 
before the event has taken place. . . . But with a disposition 
to be happy, it is neither this place nor the other that can 
render us the reverse. In short each man’s happiness depends 
upon himself, and his ability for doing with little.” He turned 
more particularly to Somerset, and added with an impressive 
smile : “ I hope you cultivate the art of doing with little ? ” 

Somerset said that he certainly did cultivate that art, partly 
because he was obliged to. 

“ Ah — you don’t mean to the extent that I mean. The 
world has not yet learned the riches of frugality, says, I think, 
Cicero, somewhere ; and nobody can testify to the truth of that 
remark better than I. If a man knows how to spend less than 
his income, however small that may be, why — he has the 


40 


A LAODICEAN. 


philosopher’s stone.” And Sir William looked in Somerset’s 
face with frugality written in every pore of his own, as much 
as to say, “ And here you see one who has been a living 
instance of those principles from his youth up.” 

Somerset soon found that whatever turn the conversation 
took, Sir William invariably reverted to this topic of frugality. 
When luncheon was over he asked his visitor to walk with him 
into the garden, and no sooner were they alone than he 
continued : “ Well, Mr. Somerset, you are down here sketching 
architecture for professional purposes. Nothing can be better : 
you are a young man, and your art is one in which there are 
innumerable chances.” 

“ I had begun to think they were rather few,” said Somerset. 

“ No, they are numerous enough : the difficulty is to find out 
where they lie. It is better to know where your luck lies than 
where your talent lies : that’s an old man’s opinion.” 

“ I’ll remember it,” said Somerset. 

“ And now give me some account of your new clubs, new 
hotels, and new men. . . . What I was going to add, on the 
subject of finding out where your luck lies, is that nobody is so 
unfortunate as not to have a lucky star in some direction or 
other. Perhaps yours is at the antipodes ; if so, go there 
All I say is, Discover your lucky star.” 

“ I am looking for it.” 

“ You may be able to do two things ; one well, the other but 
indifferently, and yet you may have more luck in the latter. 
Then stick to that one, and never mind what you can do best. 
Your star lies there.” 

“ There I am not quite at one with you, Sir William.” 

“ You should be. Not that I mean to say that luck lies in any 
one place long, or at any one person’s door. Fortune likes 
new faces, and your wisdom lies in bringing your acquisitions 
into safety while her favour lasts. To do that you must make 
friends in her time of smiles — make friends with people, 
wherever you find them. My daughter has unconsciously 
followed that maxim. She has struck up a warm friendship 
with our neighbour, Miss Power, at the castle. We are 
diametrically different from her in associations, traditions, ideas, 
religion — she comes of a violent dissenting family among other 
things — but I say to Charlotte what I say to you : win affection 
and regard wherever you can, and accommodate yourself to the 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


41 


times. I put nothing in the way of their intimacy, and wisely 
so, for by this so many pleasant hours are added to the sum 
total vouchsafed to humanity.” 

It was quite late in the afternoon when Somerset took his 
leave. Miss De Stancy did not return to the castle that night, 
and he walked through the wood as he had come, feeling that 
he had been talking with a man of simple nature, who flattered 
his own understanding by devising Machiavellian theories after 
the event, to account for any spontaneous action of himself 
or his daughter, which might otherwise seem eccentric or 
irregular. 

Before Somerset reached the inn he was overtaken by a 
slight shower, and on entering the house he walked into the 
general room, where there was a fire, and stood with one foot 
on the fender. The landlord was talking to some guest who 
sat behind a screen ; and, probably because Somerset had 
been seen passing the window, and was known to be sketching 
at the castle, the conversation turned on Sir William De 
Stancy. 

“ I have often noticed,” observed the landlord, “ that folks 
who have come to grief, and quite failed, have the rules how 
to succeed in life more at their fingers’ ends than folks who 
have succeeded. I assure you that Sir William, so full as he is 
of wise maxims, never acted upon a wise maxim in his life, 
until he had lost everything, and it didn’t matter whether he was 
wise or no. You know what he was in his young days of 
course ? ” 

“No, I don’t,” said the invisible stranger. 

“ Oh, I thought everybody knew poor Sir William’s history. 
He was the star, as I may say, of good company forty years 
ago. I remember him in the height of his jinks, as I used to 
see him when I was a very little boy, and think how great and 
wonderful he was. I can seem to see now the exact style of 
his clothes ; it was always of a very light colour — a neat white 
hat, white trousers, white silk handkerchief ; ay, and his hand- 
some face, as white as his clothes with keeping late hours. 
There was nothing black about him but his hair and his eyes — 
he wore no beard at that time — and they were black indeed. 
The like of his style of coming on the race-course was never 
seen there afore nor since. He drove his ikkipage himself ; 
and it was always hauled by four beautiful white horses, and 


A LAODICEAN. 


( 


\2 


two outriders on matches to ’em, rode in harness bridles. In 
his rear was a saddle-horse groom leading a thoroughbred hack, 
and at the rubbing post was another groom, waiting with 
another hack — all in liveries, splendid and glorious as New 
Jerusalem. What a ’stablishment he kept up at that time ! 
I can mind him, sir, with thirty race-horses in training at once, 
seventeen coach-horses, twelve hunters at his box t’other side 
of London, four chargers at Budmouth, and ever so many 
hacks.” 

“ And he lost all by his racing speculations ? ” the stranger 
observed ; and Somerset fancied that the voice had in it 
something more than the languid carelessness of a casual 
sojourner. 

“ Partly by that, partly in other ways. He spent a mint o’ 
money in a wild project of founding a watering-place ; and 
sunk thousands in a useless silver mine ; so ’twas no surprise 
that the castle named after him passed into other hands. . . . 
The way it was done was curious. Mr. Wilkins, who was the 
first owner after it went from Sir William, actually sat down as 
a guest at his table, and got up as the owner. He took off, 
at a round sum, everything saleable, furniture, plate, pictures, 
even the milk and butter in the dairy. That’s how the pictures 
and furniture come to be in the castle still ; wormeaten rubbish 
some of it, and hardly worth moving.” 

“ And off went the baronet to Myrtle Villa ? ” 

u Oh no ! he went away for many years. ’Tis quite recently, 
since his illness, that he came to that little place, within sight 
of the stone walls that were the pride of his forefathers.” 

“ From what I hear, he has not the manner of a broken- 
hearted man ? ” 

“ Not at all. Since that severe illness he has been happy, 
as you see him ; no pride or regret, quite calm and mild ; at 
new moon quite childish. ’Tis that makes him able to live 
theje ; before he was so ill he couldn’t bear a sight of the 
place, but since then he is happy nowjiere else, and never 
leaves the parish further than to drive once a week to Markton. 
His head won’t stand society nowadays, and he lives quite 
lonely as you see, only seeing his daughter, or his son whenever 
he comes home, which is not often. They say that if his 
brain hadn’t softened a little he would ha’ died — ’twas that 
saved his life.” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


43 


“ What s this I hear about his daughter ? Is she really hired 
companion to the new owner ? ” 

“Now that’s a curious thing again, these two girls being so 
fond of one another ; one of ’em a dissenter, and all that, and 
the other a De Stancy. Oh no, not hired exactly, but she 
mostly lives with Miss Power, and goes about with her, and I 
dare say Miss Power makes it worth her while. One can’t 
move a step without the other following; though judging by 
ordinary folks you’d think ’twould be a cat-and-dog friendship 
rather.” 

“ But ’tis not ? ” 

“ ’Tis not ; they be more like lovers than girl and girl. Miss 
Power is looked up to by little De Stancy as if she were a god- 
a’mighty, and Miss Power lets her love her to her heart’s con- 
tent. But whether Miss Power loves back again I can’t say, 
for she’s as deep as the North Star.” 

. The landlord here left the stranger to go to some other part 
of the house, and Somerset drew near to the glass partition to 
gain a glimpse of a man whose interest in the neighbourhood 
seemed to have arisen so simultaneously with his own. But the 
inner room was empty : the man had apparently departed by 
another door. 


CHAPTER VI. 

The telegraph had almost the attributes of a human being at 
Stancy Castle. When its bell rang people rushed to the old 
tapestried chamber allotted to it, and waited its pleasure with all 
the deference due to such a novel inhabitant of that ancestral 
pile. This happened on the following afternoon about four 
o’clock, while Somerset was sketching in the room adjoining 
that occupied by the instrument. Hearing its call, he looked 
in to learn if anybody were attending, and found Miss De Stancy 
bending over it. 

She welcomed him without the least embarrassment. “ An- 
other message,” she said. — ‘“Paula to Charlotte. — Have returned 
to Markton. Am starting for home. Will be at the gate between 
four and five if possible.' ” 


A LAODICEAN. 


Miss De Stancy blushed with pleasure when she raised her 
eyes from the machine. “ Is she not thoughtful to let me know 
beforehand ? ” 

Somerset said she certainly appeared to be, feeling at the 
same time that he was not in possession of sufficieut data to 
make the opinion of great value. 

“ Now I must get everything ready, and order what she will 
want, as Mrs. Goodman is away. What will she want ? Dinner 
would be best — she has had no lunch, I know ; or tea perhaps, 
and dinner at the usual time. Still, if she has had no lunch — 
Hark, what do I hear ? ” 

She ran to an arrow-slit, and Somerset, who had also heard 
something, looked out of an adjoining one. They could see 
from their elevated position a great way along the white road, 
stretching like a tape amid the green expanses on each side. 
There had arisen a cloud of dust, accompanied by a noise of 
wheels. 

“ It is she,” said Charlotte. “ Oh yes — it is past four — the 
telegram has been delayed.” 

“ How would she be likely to come ? ” 

“ She has doubtless hired a carriage at the King’s Arms : she . 
said it would be useless to send to meet her, as she couldn’t 
name a time. . . . Where is she now ? ” 

“Just where the boughs of those beeches overhang the road 
— there she is again ! ” 

Miss De Stancy went away to give directions, and Somerset 
continued to watch. The vehicle, which was of no great pre- 
tension, soon crossed the bridge and stopped : there was a ring 
at the bell ; and Miss De Stancy reappeared. 

“Did you see her as she drove up — is she not interest- 
ing?” 

“ I could not see her.” 

“ Ah, no — of course you could not from this window because 
of the tree. Mr. Somerset, will you come downstairs? You 
will have to meet her, you know.” 

Somerset felt an indescribable backwardness. “I will go 
on with my sketching,” he said. “ Perhaps she will not 
be ” 

“ Oh, but it would be quite natural, would it not ? Our 
manners are easier here, you know, than they are in town, and 
Miss Power has adapted herself to them.” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


45 


A compromise was effected by Somerset declaring that he 
would hold himself in readiness to be discovered on the landing 
at any convenient time. 

A servant entered. “Miss Power?” said Miss De Stancy, 
before he could speak. 

The man advanced with a card : Miss De Stancy took it up, 
and read thereon : “ Mr. William Dare.’* 

“ It is not Miss Power who has come, then?” she asked, 
with a disappointed face. 

“No, ma’am.” 

She looked again at the card. “This is some man of 
buisness, I suppose— does he want to see me?” 

“ Yes, miss. Leastwise, he would be glad to see you if Miss 
Power is not at home. ” 

Miss De Stancy left the room, and soon returned, saying, 
“ Mr. Somerset, can you give me your counsel in this matter ? 
This Mr. Dare says he is a photographic amateur, and it 
seems that he wrote some time ago to Miss Power, who gave 
him permission to take views of the castle, and promised to 
show him the best points. But I have heard nothing of it, and 
scarcely know whether I ought to take his word in her absence. 
Mrs. Goodman, Miss Power’s relative, who usually attends to 
these things, is away.” 

“ I dare say it is all right,” said Somerset. 

“ Would you mind seeing him ? If you think it quite in 
order, perhaps you will instruct him where the best views are to 
be obtained ? ” 

Thereupon Somerset at once went down to Mr. Dare. His 
coming as a sort of counterfeit of Miss Power disposed Somerset 
to judge him with as much severity as justice would allow, and 
his manner for the moment was not of a kind calculated to 
dissipate antagonistic instincts. Mr. Dare was standing before 
the fireplace with his feet wide apart, and his hands in the 
pockets of his coat-tails, looking at a carving over the mantel- 
piece. He turned quickly at the sound of Somerset’s footsteps, 
and revealed himself as a person quite out of the common. 

His age it was impossible to say. There was not a hair upon 
his face which could serve to hang a guess upon. In repose he 
appeared a boy ; but his actions were so completely those of a 
man that the beholder’s first estimate of sixteen as his age was 
hastily corrected to six-and-twenty, and afterwards shifted 


46 


A LAODICEAN. 


hither and thither along intervening years as the tenor of his 
sentences sent him up or down. He had a broad forehead, 
vertical as the face of a bastion, and his hair, which was parted 
in the middle, hung as a fringe or valance above, in the fashion 
sometimes affected by the other sex. He wore a heavy ring, 
of which the gold seemed good, the diamond questionable, and 
the taste indifferent. There were the remains of a swagger in 
his body and limbs as he came forward, regarding Somerset 
with a confident smile, as if the wonder were, not why Mr. Dare 
should be present, but why Somerset should be present likewise ; 
and the first tone that came from Dare’s lips wound up his 
listener’s opinion that he did not like him. 

A latent power in the man, or boy, was revealed by the circum- 
stance that Somerset did not feel, as he would ordinarily have 
done, that it was a matter of profound indifference to him 
whether this gentleman-photographer were a likeable person 
or no. 

“ I have called by appointment ; or rather, I left a card 
stating that to-day would suit me, and no objection was made.” 
Somerset recognised the voice; it was that of the invisible 
stranger who had talked with the landlord about the De Stancys. 
Mr. Dare then proceeded to explain his business. , 

Somerset found from his inquiries that the man had unques- 
tionably been instructed by somebody to take the views he 
spoke of ; and concluded that Dare’s curiosity at the inn was, 
after all, naturally explained by his errand to this place. 
Blaming himself for a too hasty condemnation of the stranger, 
who though visually a little too assured was civil enough ver- 
bally, Somerset proceeded with the young photographer to 
sundry corners of the outer ward, and thence across the moat 
to the field, suggesting advantageous points of view. The 
office, being a shadow of his own pursuits, was not uncon- 
genial to Somerset, and he forgot other things in attending 
to it. 

“Now in our country we should stand farther back than 
this, and so get a more comprehensive coup daziip said Dare, as 
Somerset selected a good situation. 

“ You are not an Englishman, then,” said Somerset 

“ I have lived mostly in India, Malta, Gibraltar, the Ionian 
Islands, and Canada. I there invented a new photographic 
process, which I am bent upon making famous. Yet I am but a 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


47 

dilettante, and do not follow this art at the base dictation of 
what men call necessity.” 

“ Oh, indeed,” Somerset replied. 

As soon as this business was disposed of, and Mr. Dare had 
brought up his van and assistant to begin operations, Somerset 
returned to the castle entrance. While under the archway 
a man with a professional look drove up in a dog-cart and en- 
quired if Miss Power were at home to-day. 

“ She has not yet returned, Mr. Havill,” was the reply. 

Somerset, who had hoped to hear an affirmative by this time, 
thought that Miss Power was bent on disappointing him in the 
flesh, notwithstanding the interest she expressed in him by tele- 
graph ; and as it was now drawing towards the end of the after- 
noon, he walked off in the direction of his inn. 

There were two or three ways to that spot, but the 
pleasantest was by passing through a rambling shrubbery, 
between whose bushes trickled a broad shallow brook, occasion- 
ally intercepted in its course by a transverse chain of old stones, 
evidently from the castle walls, which formed a miniature water- 
fall. The walk lay along the river brink. Soon Somerset saw 
before him a circular summer-house formed of short sticks 
nailed to ornamental patterns. Outside the structure, and 
immediately in the path, stood a man with a book in his hand ; 
and it was presently apparent that this gentleman was holding a 
conversation with some person inside the pavilion, but the 
back of the building being towards Somerset, the second in- 
dividual could not be seen. 

The speaker at one moment glanced into the interior, and 
at another at the advancing form of the architect, whom, 
though distinctly enough beheld, the other scarcely appeared 
to heed in the absorbing interest of his own discourse. Somerset 
became aware that it was the Baptist minister, whose rhetoric 
he had heard in the chapel yonder. 

“ Now,” continued the Baptist minister, “ will you express 
to me any reason or objection whatever which induces you to 
withdraw from our communion ? It was that of your father, 
and of his father before him. Any difficulty you may have 
met with, I will honestly try to remove ; for I need hardly say 
that in losing you we lose one of the most valued members 
of the Baptist church in this district. I speak with all the 
respect due to your position, when I ask you to realise how 


48 


A LAODICEAN. 


irreparable is the injury you inflict upon the cause here by this 
lukewarm backwardness.” 

“ I don’t withdraw,” said a woman’s low voice within. 

u What do you do ? ” 

“ I decline to attend for the present.” 

“ And you can give no reason for this ? ” 

There was no reply. 

“ Or for your refusal to proceed with the baptism?” 

“ I have been christened.” 

“-My dear young lady, it is well known that your christening 
was the work of your aunt, who did it unknown to your 
parents when she had you in her power, out of pure obstinacy 
to a church with which she was not in sympathy, taking you 
surreptitiously, and indefensibly, to the font of the Establish- 
ment ; so that the rite meant and could mean nothing at 
all. . . . But I fear that your new position has brought you 
into contact with the Paedobaptists, that they have disturbed 
your old principles, and so induced you to believe in the 
validity of that trumpery ceremony 1 ” 

“ It seems sufficient.” 

“ I will demolish the basis of that seeming in three minutes, 
give me but that time as a listener.” 

“ I have no objection.” 

“ Very well. . . . First, then, I will assume that those who 
have influenced you in the matter have not been able to make 
any impression upon one so well grounded as yourself in our 
distinctive doctrine, by the stale old argument drawn from 
circumcision ? ” 

" You may assume it.” 

“ Good — that clears the ground. And we now come to the 
New Testament.” 

The minister began to turn over the leaves of his little Bible, 
which it impressed Somerset to observe was bound with a flap, 
like a pocket book, the black surface of the leather being worn 
brown at the corners by long usage. He turned on till he 
came to the beginning of the New Testament, and then com- 
menced his discourse. After explaining his position, the old 
man ran very ably through the arguments, citing well-known 
writers on the point in dispute when he required more finished 
sentences than his own. 

The minister’s earnestness and interest in his own case led 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


49 


him unconsciously to include Somerset in his audience as the 
young man drew nearer ; till, instead of fixing his eyes ex- 
clusively on the person within the summer-house, the preacher 
began to direct a good proportion of his discourse upon his 
new auditor, turning from one listener to the other attentively, 
without seeming to feel Somerset’s presence as superfluous. 

“ And now,” he said in conclusion, “ I put it to you, sir, as 
to her : do you find any flaw in my argument ? Is there, 
madam, a single text which, honestly interpreted, affords the 
least foothold for the Psedobaptists ; in other words, for your 
opinion on the efficacy of the rite administered to you in your 
unconscious infancy? I put it to you both as honest and 
responsible beings.” He turned again to the young man. 

It happened that Somerset had been over this ground long 
ago. Born, so to speak, a High-Church infant, in his youth 
he had been of a thoughtful turn, till at one time an idea of 
his entering the Church had been entertained by his parents. 
He had formed acquaintance with men of almost every 
variety of doctrinal practice in this country ; and, as the 
pleadings of each assailed him before he had arrived at an age 
of sufficient mental stability to resist new impressions, however 
badly substantiated, he inclined to each denomination as it 
presented itself, was 

Everything by starts, and nothing long, 

till he had travelled through a great many beliefs and doctrines 
without feeling himself much better than when he set out. 

Fully conscious of the inexpediency of contests on minor 
ritual differences, he yet felt a sudden impulse towards a mild 
intellectual tournament with the eager old man — to do now, 
purely as an exercise of his wits in the defence of a fair girl, 
what he had once done with all the earnestness of a lad fight- 
ing for vital principles and not quite able to maintain them. 

“ Sir, I accept your challenge to us,” said Somerset, advanc- 
ing to the minister’s side. 


5 ° 


A LAODICEAN. 


CHAPTER VII. 

At the sound of a new voice the lady in the bower started, as 
he could see by her outline through the crevices of the wood- 
work and creepers. The minister looked surprised. 

“ You will lend me your Bible, sir, to assist my memory ? ” he 
continued. 

The minister held out the Bible with some reluctance, but 
he allowed Somerset to take it from his hand. The latter, 
stepping upon a large moss-covered stone which stood near, 
and laying his hat on a flat beech bough that rose and fell behind 
him, pointed to the minister to seat himself on the grass. The 
minister looked at the grass, and looked up again at Somerset, 
but did not move. 

Somerset for the moment was not observing him. His new 
position had turned out to be exactly opposite the open side of 
the bower, and now for the first time he beheld the interior. 
On the seat was the woman who had stood beneath his eyes in 
the chapel, the “ Paula ” of Miss De Stancy’s enthusiastic 
eulogies. She wore a summer hat, beneath which her fair curly 
hair formed a thicket round her forehead. It would be im- 
possible to describe her as she then appeared. Not sensuous 
enough for an Aphrodite, and too subdued for a Hebe, she 
would yet, with the adjunct of doves or nectar, have stood suffi- 
ciently well for either of those personages, if presented in a 
pink morning light, and with mythological scarcity of attire. 

Half in surprise she glanced up at him ; and lowering her 
eyes again, as if no surprise were ever let influence her actions 
for more than a moment, she sat on as before, looki g past 
Somerset’s position at the view down the river, visible for a 
long distance before her till it was lost under the bending trees. 

Somerset turned over the leaves of the minister’s Bible, and 
began : 

“ The words of my text are taken from the First Epistle to 
the Corinthians, the seventh chapter and the fourteenth verse.” 

Here the young lady raised her eyes in spite of her reserve, 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


5i 


but it being, apparently, too much labour to keep them raised, 
allowed her glance to subside upon her jet necklace, extending 
it with the thumb of her left hand. 

“ Sir ! ” said the Baptist excitedly, “ I know that passage 
well — it is the last refuge of the Paedobaptists — I foresee your 
argument I have met it dozens of times, and it is not worth 
that snap - of the fingers ! It is worth no more than the 
argument from Circumcision, or the Suffer-little-children argu- 
ment.” 

“ Then turn to the sixteenth chapter of the Acts, and the 
thirty-third ” 

“That, too,” cried the minister, “is answered by what I 
said before ! I perceive, sir, that you adopt the method of a 
special pleader, and not that of an honest inquirer. Is it, or 
is it not, an answer to my proofs from the eighth chapter of 
the Acts, the thirty-sixth and thirty-seventh verses ; the six- 
teenth of Mark, sixteenth verse; second of Acts, forty-first 
verse ; the tenth and the forty-seventh verse ; or the eighteenth 
and eighth verse ? ” 

“ Very well, then : I will not stick to my text, since you are 
predetermined not to be convinced by my sermon. Let me 
prove the point by other reasoning — by the argument from 
Apostolic tradition.” He threw the minister’s book upon the 
grass, and proceeded with his contention at length, which 
comprised : 

First: A lucid discourse on the earliest practice of the 
Church. 

Secondly : Inferences from the same, to wit ; that the inquiry 
being about a fact which could not but be publicly and perfectly 
known in the ages immediately succeeding that of the Apostles, 
the sense of those ages concerning this fact must needs be 
nearly conclusive. 

(When he reached this point an interest in his ingenious 
argument was revealed in spite of herself by the mobile bosom 
of Miss Paula Power, though otherwise she still occupied her- 
self by drawing out the necklace.) 

Thirdly : Testimony from Justin Martyr as to persons who 
were proselyted or made disciples from their infancy. 

Fourthly : Inference from Irenaeus in the expression, “ Omnes 
enim venit per semetipsum salvare ; omnes inquam, qui per eum 
renascuntur in Deum, infantes et parvulos et pueros et juvenes.” 

£ 2 


5 * 


A LAODICEAN. 


(At the sound of so much learning Paula turned her eyes 
upon the speaker with attention.) 

Fifthly : Proof of the signification of “ renascor ” in the 
writings of the Fathers, as reasoned by Wall. 

Sixthly : Argument from Tertullian’s advice to defer the rite. 

Seventhly : Citations from Cyprian, Clemens Alexandrinus, 
Nazianzen, Basil, Ambrose, Chrysostom, and Jerome. 

Eighthly : A summing up of the whole matter. 

Somerset looked round for the minister as he concluded the 
address, which had occupied about fifteen minutes in delivery. 
The old man had, after standing face to face with the speaker, 
gradually turned his back upon him, and during the latter 
portions of the discourse had moved slowly away. He now 
looked back; his countenance was full of commiserating re- 
proach as he lifted his hand, twice shook his head, and said, 
“ In the Epistle to the Philippians, first chapter and sixteenth 
verse, it is written that there are some who preach in con- 
tention, and not sincerely. And in the Second Epistle to 
Timothy, fourth chapter and fourth verse, attention is drawn to 
those whose ears refuse the truth, and are turned unto fables. 
I wish you good afternoon, sir, and that priceless gift, sin- 
cerity” 

The minister vanished behind the trees ; Somerset and Miss 
Power being left confronting each other alone. 

Somerset stepped down from the stone, hat in hand, at the 
same moment in which Miss Power rose from her seat. She 
hesitated for an instant, and said, with a pretty girlish stiffness, 
sweeping back the skirt of her dress to free her toes in turning, 
“ Although you are personally unknown to me, I cannot leave 
you without expressing my deep sense of your profound 
scholarship, and my admiration for the thoroughness of your 
studies in divinity.” 

“Your opinion gives me great pleasure,” said Somerset, 
bowing, and fairly blushing. “But, believe me, I am no 
scholar, and no theologian. My knowledge of the subject 
arises simply from the accident that some few years ago I 
looked into the question on my own account, and some of the 
arguments I then learnt up still remain with me.” 

“ If your sermons at the church only match your address to- 
day, I shall not wonder at hearing that the parishioners are at 
last willing to attend.” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


53 


It flashed upon Somerset’s mind that she supposed him to be 
the new curate, of whose arrival he had casually heard, during 
his sojourn at the inn. Before he could bring himself to 
correct an error to which, perhaps, more than to anything else, 
was owing the friendliness of her manner, she went on, as if to 
escape the embarrassment of silence : 

“ I need hardly say that I at least do not doubt the sincerity 
of your arguments.” 

“ Nevertheless, I was not altogether sincere,” he answered. 

She was silent. 

“ Then why should you have delivered such a defence of me ? ” 
she asked with simple curiosity. 

Somerset involuntarily looked in her face for his answer. 

Paula again teased the necklace. “ Would you have spoken 
so eloquently on the other side if I— if occasion had served ? ” 
she inquired shyly. 

“ Perhaps I would.” 

Another pause, till she said, “ I, too, was insincere.” 

“You?” 

“ I was.” 

“ In what way ? ” 

“ In letting him, and you, think I had been at all influenced 
by authority, scriptural or patristic.” 

“ May I ask, why, then, did you decline the ceremony the 
other evening ? ” 

“ Ah, you, too, have heard of it ? ” she said quickly. 

“ No.” 

“What then ?” 

“ I saw it.” 

She blushed and looked past him down the river. “I 
cannot give my reasons,” she said. 

“ Of course not,” said Somerset respectfully. 

“ I would give a great deal to possess real logical dogma- 
tism.” 

“ So would I.” 

There was a moment of embarrassment : she wanted to get 
away, but did not precisely know how. He would have with- 
drawn had she not said, as if rather oppressed by her conscience, 
and evidently still thinking him the curate : “ I cannot but feel 
that Mr. WoodwelPs heart has been unnecessarily wounded.” 

“ The minister’s ? ” 


54 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Yes. He is single-mindedness itself. He gives away 
nearly all he has to the poor. He works among the sick, 
carrying them necessaries with his own hands. He teaches the 
ignorant men and lads of the village when he ought to be 
resting at home, till he is absolutely prostrate from exhaustion, 
and then he sits up at night writing encouraging letters to 
those poor people who formerly belonged to his congregation 
in the village, and have now gone away. He always offends 
ladies, because he can’t help speaking the truth as he believes 
it ; but he hasn’t offended me ! ” 

Her feelings had risen towards the end, so that she finished 
quite warmly, and turned aside. 

“ I was not in the least aware that he was such a man,” 
murmured Somerset, looking wistfully after the minister. . . . 
“ Whatever you may have done, I fear that I have grievously 
wounded a worthy man’s heart from an idle wish to engage in 
a useless, unbecoming, dull, last-century argument.” 

“ Not dull,” she murmured, “for it interested me.” 

Somerset accepted her correction willingly. “It was ill- 
considered of me, however,” he said ; “ and in his distress he 
has forgotten his Bible.” He went and picked up the worn 
volume from where it lay on the grass. 

“ You can easily win him to forgive you, by just following, 
and returning the book to him,” she observed. 

“ I will,” said the young man impulsively. And, bowing to 
her, he hastened along the river brink after the minister. He 
walked some distance, and at length saw his friend before him, 
leaning over the gate which led from the private path into a 
lane, his cheek resting on the palm of his hand with every 
outward sign of abstraction. He was not conscious of 
Somerset’s presence till the latter touched him on the 
shoulder. 

Never was a reconciliation effected more readily. When 
Somerset said that, fearing his motives might be misconstrued, 
he had followed to assure the minister of his goodwill and 
esteem, Mr. Woodwell held out his hand, and proved his 
friendliness in return by preparing to have the controversy on 
their religious differences over again from the beginning, in an 
amicable spirit, and with exhaustive detail. Somerset evaded 
this with alacrity, and once having won his companion to other 
subjects, he found that the austere man had a smile as pleasant 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


55 

as an infant’s on the rare moments when he indulged in it; 
moreover, that he was warmly attached to Miss Power. 

“ Though she gives me more trouble than all the rest of the 
Baptist church in this district,” he said, “ I love her as my own 
daughter. But I am sadly exercised to know what she is at 
heart. Heaven supply me with fortitude to contest her wild 
opinions, and intractability ! But she has sweet virtues, and 
her conduct at times can be most endearing.” 

“ I believe it ! ” said Somerset, with more fervour than mere 
politeness required. 

“ Sometimes I think those Stancy towers and lands will be a 
curse to her. The spirit of old papistical times still lingers in 
the nooks of those silent walls, like a bad odour in a still 
atmosphere, dulling the iconoclastic emotions of the true 
Puritan. It would be a pity indeed if she were to be tainted 
by the very situation that her father’s indomitable energy 
created for her.” 

“ Do not be concerned about her,” said Somerset gently, for 
the minister was evidently in trouble. “She’s not a Psedo- 
baptist at heart, although she seems so.” 

Mr. Woodwell placed his finger on Somerset’s arm, saying, 
“ If she’s not a Paedobaptist, or Episcopalian ; if she is not 
vulnerable to the mediaeval influences of her mansion, lands, 
and new acquaintance, it is because she’s been vulnerable to 
what is worse : to doctrines beside which the errors of Paedo- 
baptists, Episcopalians, Roman Catholics, are but as air.” 

“ How ? You astonish me.” 

“ Have you heard in your metropolitan experience of a 
curious body of New Lights, as they think themselves?” The 
minister whispered a name to his listener, as if he were fearful 
of being overheard. 

“ Oh no,” said Somerset, shaking his head, and smiling at 
the minister’s horror. “ She’s not that ; at least, I think not. 

. . . She’s a woman ; nothing more. Don’t fear for her ; all 
will be well.” 

The poor old man sighed. “ I love her as my own. I will 
say no more.” 

Somerset was now in haste to get back to the lady, to ease 
her apparent anxiety as to the result of his mission, and also 
because time seemed heavy in the loss of her discreet voice and 
soft, buoyant look. Every moment of delay began to be as 


56 


A LAODICEAN . 


two. But the minister was too earnest in his converse to see 
his companion’s haste, and it was not till perception of the 
same was forced upon him by the actual retreat of Somerset 
that he remembered time to be a limited commodity. He 
then expressed his wish to see Somerset at his house to tea any 
afternoon he could spare, and receiving the other’s promise to 
call as soon as he could, allowed the younger man to set out 
for the summer-house, which he did at a smart pace. When 
he reached it he looked around, and found she was gone. 

Somerset was immediately struck by his own lack of social 
dexterity. Why did he act so readily on the whimsical sugges- 
tion of another person, and follow the minister, when he might 
have said that he would call on Mr. Woodwell to-morrow, and, 
making himself known to Miss Power as the visiting architect 
of whom she had heard from Miss De Stancy, have had the 
pleasure of attending her to the castle? “That’s what any 
other man would have had wit enough to do ! ” he said. 

There then arose the question whether her despatching him 
after the minister was such an admirable act of good-nature to 
a good man as it had at first seemed to be. Perhaps it was 
simply a manoeuvre for getting rid of himself; and he remem- 
bered his doubt whether a certain light in her eyes when she 
inquired concerning his sincerity were innocent earnestness or 
the reverse. As the possibility of levity crossed his brain, his 
face warmed ; it pained him to think that a woman so interest- 
ing could condescend to a trick of even so mild a complexion 
as that. He wanted to think her the soul of all that was tender, 
and noble, and kind. The pleasure of setting himself to win a 
minister’s goodwill was a little tarnished now. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

That evening Somerset was so preoccupied with these things 
that he left all his sketching implements out-of-doors in the 
castle grounds. He went somewhat earlier the next morning 
to secure them from being stolen or spoiled. Meanwhile he 
was hoping to have an opportunity of rectifying in the mind of 
Paula the mistake about fcis personality, which having served a 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


57 


very good purpose in introducing them to a mutual conversa 
tion, might possibly be made just as agreeable as a thing to be 
explained away. 

He fetched his drawing instruments, rods, sketching-blocks 
and other articles from the field where they fnd lain, and was 
passing under the walls with them in his hands, when there 
emerged from the outer archway an open landau, drawn by a 
pair of black horses of fine action and obviously strong pedigree, 
in which Paula was seated, under the shade of a white parasol 
with black and white ribbons fluttering on the summit. The 
morning sun sparkled on the equipage, its newness being made 
all the more noticeable by the ragged old arch behind. 

She bowed to Somerset in a way which might have been 
meant to express that she had discovered her mistake; but 
there was no embarrassment in her manner, and the carriage 
bore her away without her making any sign for checking it. 
He had not been walking towards the castle entrance, and she 
could not be supposed to know that it was his intention to 
enter that day. 

She had looked such a bud of youth and promise that his 
disappointment at her departure might have shown itself in 
his face as he observed her. However, he went on his way, 
entered a turret, ascended to the leads of the great tower, and 
stepped out. 

From this elevated position he could still see the carriage and 
the white surface of Paula’s parasol in the glowing sun. While 
he watched these objects the landau stopped, and in a few 
moments the horses were turned, the wheels and the panels 
flashed, and the carriage came bowling along towards the 
castle again. 

Somerset descended the stone stairs. Before he had quite 
got to the bottom he saw Miss De Stancy standing in the outer 
hall. 

“ When did you come, Mr. Somerset ? ” she gaily said, look- 
ing up surprised. “ How industrious you are to be at work 
so regularly every day ! We didn’t think you would be here 
to-day : Paula has gone to a vegetable show at Markton, and I 
am going to join her there soon.” 

“ Oh ! gone to a vegetable show. But I think she has altered 
her ” 

At this moment the noise of the carriage was heard in the 


58 


A LAODICEAN. 


ward, the door was thrown open, and after the lapse of a few 
seconds Miss Power came in — Somerset being invisible from 
the door where she stood. 

“ Oh, Paula, what has brought you back ? ” said Miss De 
Stancy. 

“ I have forgotten something.” 

“ Mr. Somerset is here. Will you not speak to him ?” 

Somerset being by this time in sight, came forward, and Miss 
De Stancy presented him to her friend. Mr. Somerset acknow- 
ledged the pleasure by a respectful inclination of his person, 
and said some words about the meeting yesterday. 

“ Yes,” said Miss Power, with a serene deliberateness quite 
noteworthy in a girl of her age ; I have seen it all since. I 
was mistaken about you, was I not ? Mr. Somerset, I am glad 
to welcome you here, both as a friend of Miss De Stancy’s 
family, and as the son of your father — which is indeed quite a 
sufficient introduction anywhere.” 

“ You have two pictures painted by Mr. Somerset’s father, 
have you not ? I have already told him about them,” said Miss 
De Stancy. “ Perhaps Mr. Somerset would like to see them if 
they are unpacked ? ” 

As Somerset had from his infancy suffered from a plethora 
of those productions, excellent as they were, he did not reply 
quite so eagerly as Miss De Stancy seemed to expect to her 
kind suggestion, and Paula remarked to him, “ You will stay to 
lunch ? Do order it at your own time, if our hour should not 
be convenient.” 

Her voice was a voice of low note, in quality that of a flute 
at the grave end of its gamut. If she sang, she was a pure 
contralto unmistakably. 

“ I am making use of the privilege you have been good 
enough ^to accord me — of sketching what is valuable within 
these walls.” 

“ Yes, of course, I am willing for anybody to come. People 
hold these places in trust for the nation, in one sense. You 
lift your hands, Charlotte ; I see I have not convinced you on 
that point yet.” 

Miss De Stancy laughed, and said something to no purpose. 

Somehow Miss Power seemed not only more woman than 
Miss De Stancy, but more woman than Somerset was man ; 
and yet in years she was inferior to both. Though becomingly 


GEORGE SOMERSET , 


59 


girlish and modest, she appeared to possess a good deal of 
composure, which was well expressed by the shaded light o f 
her eyes. 

“ You have then met Mr. Somerset before ? ” said Charlotte. 

“ He was kind enough to deliver an address in my defence 
yesterday. I suppose I seemed quite unable to defend my- 
self.” 

“ Oh no ! ” said he. 

When a few more words had passed she turned to Miss De 
Stancy and spoke of some domestic matter, upon which 
Somerset withdrew, Paula accompanying his exit with a remark 
that she hoped to see him again a little later in the day. 

Somerset retired to the chambers of antique lumber, keeping 
an eye upon the windows to see if she re-entered the carriage 
and resumed her journey to Markton. But when the horses 
had been standing a long time the carriage was driven round 
to the stables. Then she was not going to the vegetable 
show. That was rather curious, seeing that she had only come 
back for something forgotten. 

These queries and thoughts occupied the mind of Somerset 
until the bell was rung for luncheon. Owing to the very dusty 
condition in which he found himself after his morning’s labours 
among the old carvings he was rather late in getting down- 
stairs, and seeing that the rest had gone in he went straight to 
the dining-hall. 

The population of the castle had increased in his absence. 
There were assembled Paula and her friend Charlotte ; a 
bearded man some years older than himself, with a cold grey 
eye, who was cursorily introduced to him in sitting down as 
Mr. Havill, an architect of Markton ; also an elderly lady of 
dignified aspect, in a black satin dress, of which she apparently 
had a very high opinion. This lady, who seemed to be a mere 
dummy in the establishment, was, as he now learnt, Mrs. Good- 
man by name, a widow of a recently deceased gentleman, and 
aunt to Paula — the identical aunt who had smuggled Paula into 
a church in her helpless infancy, and had her christened with- 
out her parents’ knowledge. Having been left in narrow 
circumstances by her husband, she was at present living with 
Miss Power as chaperon and adviser on practical matters — in 
a word, as ballast to the management. Beyond her Somerset 
discerned his new acquaintance Mr. Woodwell, who on sight of 
Vol 7 (C; 


6o 


A LAODICEAN, 


Somerset was for hastening up to him and performing a 
laboured shaking of hands in earnest recognition. 

Paula had just come in from the garden, and was carelessly 
laying down her large shady hat as he entered. Her dress, a 
figured material in black and white, was short, allowing her 
feet to appear. There was something in her look, and in the 
style of her corsage, which reminded him of several of the 
bygone beauties in the gallery. The thought for a moment 
crossed his mind that she might have been imitating one of 
them, but it was scarcely likely. 

“ Fine old screen, sir ! ” said Mr. Havill, in a long-drawn 
voice across the table when they were seated, pointing in the 
direction of the traceried oak division between the dining-hall 
and a vestibule at the end. “ As good a piece of fourteenth- 
century work as you shall see in this part of the country.” 

“ You mean fifteenth century, of course?” said Somerset. 

Havill was silent. “ You are one of the profession, perhaps ? ” 
asked the latter, after a while. 

“You mean that I am an architect?” said Somerset. 
“ Yes.” 

“Ah — one of my own honoured vocation.” Havill’s face 
had been not unpleasant until this moment, when he smiled ; 
whereupon there instantly gleamed over him a phase of mean- 
ness, remaining until the smile died away. It might have been 
a physical accident ; it might have been otherwise. 

Havill continued, with slow watchfulness : 

“ What enormous sacrileges are committed by the builders 
every day, I observe ! I was driving yesterday to Helterton, 
where I am erecting a town -hall, and passing through a village 
on my way I saw the workmen pulling down a chancel-wall in 
which they found imbedded a unique specimen of Perpendicu- 
lar work — a capital from some old arcade — the mouldings 
wonderfully undercut. They were smashing it up as filling-in 
for the new wall.” 

“ It must have been unique,” said Somerset, in the too-readily 
controversial tone of the educated young man who has yet to 
learn diplomacy. “ I have never seen much undercutting in 
Perpendicular stone-work ; nor anybody else, I think.” 

“ Oh yes — lots of it ! ” said Mr. Havill, nettled. His glance 
at Somerset as he answered had a peculiar shade in it, suggest- 
ing that he was readily convertible into an enemy. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


61 

Paula looked from one to the other. “Which am I to take 
as guide ? ” she asked. “ Are Perpendicular capitals undercut, 
as you call it, Mr. Havill, or no ? ” 

“ It depends upon circumstances,” said Mr. Havill. 

But Somerset had answered at the same time : “ There is 
seldom or never any marked undercutting in moulded work 
later than the middle of the fourteenth century.” 

Havill looked keenly at Somerset for a time : then he turned 
to Paula : “ As regards that fine Saxon vaulting you did me 
the honour to consult me about the other day, I should advise 
taking out some of the old stones and reinstating new ones 
exactly like them.” 

“ But the new ones won’t be Saxon,” said Paula. “ And 
then in time to come, when I have passed away, and those 
stones have become stained like the rest, people will be deceived. 
I should prefer an honest patch to any such make-believe of 
Saxon relics.” 

As she concluded, she let her eyes rest on Somerset for a 
moment, as if to ask him to side with her. Much as he liked 
talking to Paula, he would have preferred not to enter into this 
discussion with another professional man, even though that man 
were a spurious article ; but he was led on to enthusiasm by a 
sudden pang of regret at finding that the masterly workman- 
ship in this fine castle was likely to be tinkered and spoilt by 
such a man as Havill. 

“You will deceive nobody into believing that anything is 
Saxon here,” he said, warmly. “ There is not a square inch of 
Saxon work, as it is called, in the whole castle.” 

Paula, in doubt, looked to Mr. Havill. 

“ Oh yes, sir ; you are quite mistaken,” said tnat gentleman, 
slowly. “ Every stone of those lower vaults was reared in 
Saxon times.” 

“ I can assure you,” said Somerset, deferentially, but firmly, 
“ that there is not an arch or wall in this castle of a date anterior 
to the year i ioo ; no one whose attention has ever been given 
to the study of architectural details of that age can be of a 
different opinion.” 

“ I have studied architecture, and I am of a different opinion. 
I have the best reason in the world for the difference, for I have 
history herself on my side. What will you say when I tell you 
that it is a recorded fact that King Edred, great uncle of 


62 


A LAODICEAN. 


Edward the Confessor, gave this castle to a certain abbess, and 
that, in addition, the castle is mentioned in Domesday as a 
building of long standing ? ” 

“ I shall say that has nothing to do with it,” replied the young 
man. “ I don’t deny that there may have been a castle here in 
the time of Edward : what I say is, that none of the architec- 
ture we now see was standing at that date.” 

There was a silence of a minute, disturbed only by a 
murmured dialogue between Mrs. Goodman and the minister, 
during which Paula was looking thoughtfully on the table as if 
framing a question. 

“ Can it be,” she said to Somerset, “ that such certainty has 
been reached in the study of architectural dates ? Now, would 
you really risk anything on your belief? Would you agree to 
be shut up in the vaults and fed upon bread and water for a 
week if I could prove you wrong ? ” 

“ Willingly,” said Somerset. “ The date of those groins is 
matter of absolute certainty. The details are notorious, as 
being what are called Transition or semi-Norman; their 
growth can be traced out of earlier forms ; everything is 
known about them from repeated observations made all over 
England and the Continent. More than that, I have found an 
arch-ornament here which is exactly copied from a similar one 
I sketched in the crypt of the Abbaye aux Dames at Caen last 
year. That it should have been built before the Conquest is 
as unlikely as, say, that the rustiest old gun with a percussion 
lock should be older than the date of Waterloo.” 

“ How I wish I knew something precise of an art which 
makes one so independent of written history ! ” 

Mr. Havill had lapsed into a mannerly silence that was only 
sullenness disguised. Paula turned her conversation to Miss 
De Stancy, who had simply looked from one to the other 
during the discussion, never venturing to putin a word, though 
she might have been supposed to have a prescriptive right to a 
few remarks on the matter. A commonplace talk ensued, till 
Havill, who had not joined in it, privately began at Somerset 
again with a mixed manner of cordiality, contempt, and mis- 
giving. 

“You have a practice, I suppose, sir ? 5 

“Iam not in practice just yet” 

“Just beginning ?” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


63 


“ I am about to begin.” 

“ In London, or near here ? 

“ In London probably.” 

u H’fn. ... I am practising in Markton.” 

“ Indeed. Have you been at it long ? ” 

u Not particularly. I designed the chapel built by this 
lady’s late father ; it was my first undertaking — I owe my 
start, , in fact, to Mr. Power. Ever build a chapel ? ” 

“ frever. I have sketched a good many churches.* 

“ Ah — there we differ. I didn’t do much sketching in my 
youth, nor have I time for it now. Sketching and building 
are two different things, to my mind. I was not brought up 
to the profession — got into it through sheer love of it. I 
began as a landscape gardener, then I became a builder, then 
I was a road contractor. Every architect might do worse 
than have some such experience. But nowadays ’tis the men 
who can draw pretty pictures who get recommended, not the 
practical men. Young prigs win Institute medals for a pretty 
design or two which, if anybody tried to build them, would 
fall down like a house of cards; then they get travelling 
studentships and what not, and then they start as architects of 
some new school or other, and think they are the masters of 
us experienced ones.” 

While Somerset was reflecting how far this statement was 
true, he heard the voice of Paula inquiring, “ Who can he 
be?” 

Her eyes were bent on the window. Looking out, Somerset 
saw, in the mead beyond the dry ditch, Dare, with his photo- 
graphic apparatus. 

“ He is the young gentleman who called about taking views 
of the castle,” said Charlotte. 

“ Oh yes — I remember ; it is quite right. He met me in 
the village and asked me to suggest him some views. 1 
thought him a respectable young fellow.” 

“ I think he is a Canadian,” said Somerset. 

“ No,” said Paula, “ he is an East Indian — at least he 
implied that he was so to me.” 

“ There is Italian blood in him,” said Charlotte, brightly. 
“For he spoke to me with an Italian accent. Bril can’t 
think whether he is a boy or a man.” 

« It is to be earnestly hoped that the gjntleman does not 


64 


A LAODICEAN. 


prevaricate,” said the minister, for the first time attracted by 
the subject. “ I accidentally met him in the lane, and he said 
something to me about having lived in Malta. I think it was 
Malta, or Gibraltar — even if he did not say that he was born 
there. 

“ His manners are no credit to his nationality,” observed 
Mrs. Goodman, also speaking publicly for the first time. “ He 
asked me this morning to send him out a pail of water for his 
process, and before I had turned away he began whistling. I 
don’t like whistlers.” 

“ Then it appears,” said Somerset, “that he is a being of no 
age, no nationality, and no behaviour.” 

“ A complete negative,” added Havill, brightening into a 
civil sneer. “ That is, he would be, if he were not a maker of 
negatives well known in Markton.” 

“ Not well known, Mr. Havill,” answered Mrs. Goodman 
firmly. “For I lived in Markton for thirty years ending three 
months ago, and he was never heard of in my time.” 

“ He is something like you, Charlotte,” said Paula, smiling 
playfully on her companion. 

All the men looked at Charlotte, on whose face a delicate 
nervous blush thereupon made its appearance. 

“ ’Pon my word there is a likeness, now I think of it,” said 
Havill. 

Paula bent down to Charlotte and whispered : “ Forgive my 
rudeness dear. He is not a nice enough person to be like you. 
He is really more like one or other of the old pictures about 
the house. I forget which, and really it does not matter.” 

“ People’s features fall naturally into groups and classes,” 
remarked Somerset. “To an observant person they often 
repeat themselves ; though to a careless eye they seem infinite 
in their differences.” 

The conversation flagged, and they idly observed the figure 
of the cosmopolite Dare as he walked round his instrument in 
the mead and busied himself with an arrangement of curtains 
and lenses, occasionally withdrawing a few steps, and looking 
contemplatively at the towers and walls. 


*5 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Somerset returned to the top of the great tower with a vague 
consciousness that he was going to do something up there— 
perhaps sketch a general plan of the structure, with a view to 
measuring it in detail But he began to discern that this 
Stancy-Castle episode in his studies of Gothic architecture 
might be less useful than ornamental to him as a professional 
man, though it was too agreeable to be abandoned. Finding 
after a while that his drawing progressed but slowly, by reason 
of infinite joyful thoughts more allied to his nature than to his 
art, he relinquished rule and compass, and entered one of the 
two turrets opening on the roof. It was not the staircase by 
which he had ascended, and he proceeded to explore its lower 
part Entering from the blaze of light without, and imagining 
the stairs to descend as usual, he became aware after a few 
steps that there was suddenly nothing to tread on, and found 
himself precipitated downwards to a distance of several feet. 

Arrived at the bottom, he was conscious of the happy fact 
that he had not seriously hurt himself, though his leg was 
twisted awkwardly. Next he perceived that the stone steps 
had been removed from the turret, so that he had dropped into 
it as into a dry well ; that, owing to its being walled up below, 
there was no door of exit on either side of him ; that he was, in 
short, a prisoner. 

Placing himself in a more comfortable position he calmly 
considered the best means of getting out, or of making his 
condition known. For a moment he tried to drag himself up 
by his arm, but it was a hopeless attempt, the height to the 
first step being far too great. 

He next looked round at a lower level. Not far from his left 
elbow, in the concave of the outer wall, was a slit for the 
admission of light, and he perceived at once that through this 
slit alone lay his chance of communicating with the outer world. 
At first it seemed as if it were to be done by shouting, but 
when he learnt what little effect was produced by his voice in 


66 


A LAODICEAN. 


the midst of such a mass of masonry, his heart failed him for a 
moment. Yet, as either Paula or Miss De Stancy would 
probably guess his visit to the top of the tower, there was no 
cause for terror, if some for alarm. 

He put his handkerchief through the window slit, so that its 
length fluttered outside, and, fixing it in its place by a large 
stone drawn from the loose ones around him, awaited succour 
as best he could. To begin this course of procedure was easy, 
but to abide in patience till it should produce fruit was an 
irksome task. As nearly as he could guess — for his watch had 
been stopped by the fall — it was now about four o’clock, and 
it would be scarcely possible for evening to approach without 
some eye or other noticing the white signal. So Somerset 
waited, his eyes lingering on the little world of objects around 
him, till they all became quite familiar. Spiders’-webs in plenty 
were there, and one in particular just before him was in full 
use as a snare, stretching across the arch of the window, with 
radiating threads as its ribs. Somerset had plenty of time, and 
he counted their number — fifteen. He remained so silent that 
the owner of this elaborate structure soon forgot the disturbance 
which had resulted in the breaking of his diagonal ties, and 
crept out from the comer to mend them. In watching the 
process, Somerset noticed that on the stonework behind the 
web sundry names and initials had been cut by explorers in 
years gone by. Among these antique inscriptions he observed 
two bright and clean ones, consisting of the words “ De 
Stancy ” and “ W. Dare,” crossing each other at right angles. 
From the state of the stone they could not have been cut more 
than a month before this date, and, musing on the circumstance, 
Somerset passed the time until the sun reached the slit in that 
side of the tower, where, beginning by throwing in a streak of 
fire as narrow as a corn stalk, it enlarged its width till the dusty 
nook was flooded with cheerful light. It disclosed something 
lying in the corner, which on examination proved to be a dry 
bone. Whether it was human, or had come from the castle 
larder in bygone times, he could not tell. One bone was not 
a whole skeleton, but it made him think of Ginevra of Modena, 
the heroine of the Mistletoe Bough, and other cribbed and 
confined wretches, who had fallen into such traps and been 
discovered after a cycle of years. 

The sun’s rays had travelled some way round the interior 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


G? 


when Somerset’s waiting ears were at last attracted by footsteps 
above, each tread being brought down by the hollow turret 
with great fidelity. He hoped that with these sounds would 
arise that of a soft voice he had begun to like well. Indeed, 
during the solitary hour or two of his waiting here he had 
pictured Paula straying alone on the terrace of the castle, 
looking up, noting his signal, and ascending to deliver him 
from his painful position by her own exertions. It seemed 
that at length his dream had been verified. The footsteps 
approached the opening of the turret ; and, attracted by the 
call which Somerset now raised, began to descend towards him. 
In a moment, not Paula’s face, but that of a dreary footman of 
her household, looked over the edge of the lowest stair. 

Somerset mastered his disappointment, and the man speedily 
fetched a ladder, by which means the prisoner of two hours 
ascended to the roof in safety. During the process he ven- 
tured to ask for the ladies of the house, and learnt that they 
had gone out for a drive together. 

Before he left the castle, however, they had returned, a 
circumstance unexpectedly made known to him by his receiving 
a message, through a servant, from Miss Power, to the effect 
that she would be glad to see him at his convenience. 
Wondering what it could possibly mean, he followed the mes- 
senger to her room — a small modern library in the Elizabethan 
wing of the house, adjoining that in which the telegraph stood, 
and arranged for her temporary use till things were more in order. 
She was alone, sitting behind a table littered with letters and 
sketches, and looking fresh from her drive. Perhaps it was 
because he had been shut up in that dismal dungeon all the 
afternoon that he felt something in her presence which at the 
same time charmed and refreshed him. 

She signified that he was to sit down ; but finding that he 
was going to place himself on a straight-backed chair some 
distance off she said, “ Will you sit nearer to me ? ” and then, 
as if rather oppressed by her dignity, she left her own chair of 
business and seated herself at ease on an ottoman which was 
among the diversified furniture of the apartment. 

“ I want to consult you professionally,” she went on. “ I 
have been much impressed by your great knowledge of 
castellated architecture. Will you sit in that leather chair at 
the table, as you may have to take notes ? ” 


F 2 


6S 


A LAODICEAN. 


The young man assented, expressed his gratification, and 
went to the chair she designated. 

“ But, Mr. Somerset,” she continued, from the ottoman — the 
width of the table only dividing them — “ I first should just like 
to know, and I trust you will excuse my inquiry, if you are an 
architect in practice, or only as yet studying for the pro- 
fession ? ” 

“ I am just going to practise. I open my office on the first 
of January next,” he answered. 

“ You would not mind having me as a client — your first 
client ? ” She was reclining, and looked curiously from her 
sideway face across the table, as she said this. 

“ Can you ask it ! ” said Somerset, warmly. “ What are you 
going to build ? ” 

“ I am going to restore the castle.” 

“ What, all of it ? ” said Somerset, astonished at the audacity 
of such an undertaking. 

“ Not the parts that are absolutely ruinous : the walls 
battered by the Parliament artillery had better remain as they 
are, I suppose. But we have begun wrong ; it is I who should 
ask you, not you me. ... I fear,” she went on, in that low 
note which was somewhat difficult to catch at a distance, but 
which he did not wish her to raise to a louder tone, “ I fear 
what the antiquarians will say if I am not very careful. They 
come here a great deal in summer, and if I were to do the 
work wrong they would put my name in the papers as a 
dreadful person, wilfully destroying what is by rights the 
property of all. But I must live here, as I have no other 
house, except the one in London, and hence I must make the 
place habitable, which it hardly is at present. I do hope I can 
trust to your judgment?” 

“ I hope so,” he said, with diffidence, for, far from having 
much professional confidence, he often mistrusted himself. “ I 
am a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries, and a Member of 
the Institute of British Architects — not a Fellow of that body 
yet, though I soon shall be.” 

“ Then I am sure you must be trustworthy,” she said, with 
some enthusiasm. “ Well, what am I to do ? — How do we 
begin ? ” 

Somerset began to feel more professional, what with the 
business chair and the table, and the writing-paper, notwith- 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


69 


standing that these articles, and the room they were in, were 
hers instead of his ; and an evenness of manner which he had 
momentarily lost returned to him. “ The very first step,” he 
said, “ is to decide upon the outlay — what is it to cost ? ” 

He faltered a little, for it seemed to disturb the softness of 
their relationship to talk thus of hard cash. But her sympathy 
with his feeling was apparently not great, and she said, “ The 
expenditure shall be what you advise.” 

“ What a heavenly client ! ” he thought. “ But you must 
just give some idea,” he said gently. “ For the fact is, any 
sum almost may be spent on such a building : five thousand, 
ten thousand, twenty thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred 
thousand.” 

“ I want it done well ; so suppose we say a hundred thousand ? 
My father’s solicitor — my solicitor now — says I may go to a 
hundred thousand without extravagance, if the expenditure is 
scattered over two or three years.” 

Somerset looked round for a pen. With her habitual quick- 
ness of insight she knew what he wanted, and signified where 
one could be found. He wrote down in large figures — 

<£ 100 , 000 . 

It was more than he had expected ; and for a young man 
just beginning practice, and wishing to make his name known, 
the opportunity of playing with another person’s money to that 
extent would aftord an exceptionally handsome opening, not so 
much from the commission it represented, as from the attention 
that would be bestowed by the art world on such an under- 
taking. 

Paula had sunk into a reverie. “ I was intending to intrust 
the work to Mr. Havill, a local architect,” she said. “ But I 
gathered from his conversation with you to-day that his 
ignorance of styles might compromise me very seriously. In 
short, though my father employed him in one or two little 
matters, it would not be right — even a morally culpable thing 
— to place such an historically valuable building in his hands.” 

“ Has Mr. Havill ever been led to expect the commission ? ” 
he asked. 

“ He may have guessed that he would have it I have spoken 
of my intention to him more than once.” 

Somerset thought over his conversation with Havill. Well, 


70 


A LAODICEAN. 


he did not like Havill personally ; and he had strong reasons 
for suspecting that in the matter of architecture Havill was a 
quack. But was it quite generous to step in thus, and take 
away what would be a golden opportunity to such a man of 
making both ends meet comfortably for some years to come, 
without giving him at least one chance ? He reflected a little 
longer, and then spoke out his feeling. 

“ I venture to propose a slightly modified arrangement,” he 
said. “ Instead of committing the whole undertaking to my 
hands without better proof of my ability to carry it out than 
you have at present, let there be a competition between Mr. 
Havill and myself — let our rival plans for the restoration and 
enlargement be submitted to a committee of the Royal 
Institute of British Architects — and let the choice rest with 
them, subject of course to your approval.” 

“ It is indeed generous of you to suggest it.” She looked 
thoughtfully at him ; he appeared to strike her in a new light. 
“You really recommend it?” she asked, as if the fairness 
which had prompted his words inclined her still more than 
before to resign herself entirely to him in the matter. 

“ I do,” said Somerset deliberately. 

“ I will think of it, since you wish it,” she replied. “ And 
now, what general idea have you of the plan to adopt ? I do 
not positively agree to your suggestion as yet,” she added ; 
“ so I may perhaps ask the question.” 

Somerset, being by this time familiar with the general plan 
of the castle, took out his pencil, and made a rough sketch. 
While he was doing it she rose, and coming slowly to the 
back of his chair, bent over him in silence. 

“ Ah, I begin to see your conception,” she murmured ; and 
the breath of her words fanned his ear. He finished the 
sketch, and held it up to her, saying — 

“ I would suggest that you walk over the building with Mr. 
Havill and myself, and detail your ideas to us on each portion.” 

“ Is it necessary ? ” 

“ Clients mostly do it.” 

“ I will, then. But it is too late for me this evening. Please 
meet me to-morrow at ten.” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


71 


CHAPTER X. 

At ten o’clock they met in the same room, Paula appearing in 
a straw hat having a bent-up brim lined with plaited silk, so 
that it surrounded her forehead like a nimbus ; and Somerset 
armed with sketch-book, measuring-rod, ivory rule, and other 
apparatus of his craft. 

“ And Mr. Havill ? ” said the young man. 

“ I have not decided to employ him : if I do he shall go 
round with me independently of you,” she replied rather 
brusquely. 

Somerset was by no means sorry to hear this. His duty to 
Havill was done. 

“ And now,” she said, as they walked on together through 
the passages, “ I must tell you that I am not a medievalist 
myself ; and perhaps that’s a pity.” 

“ What are you ? ” 

“ I am Greek — that’s why I don’t wish to influence your 
design.” 

Somerset, as they proceeded, pointed out where roofs had 
been and should be again, where gables had been pulled down, 
and where floors had vanished, showing her how to reconstruct 
their details from marks in the walls, much as a comparative 
anatomist reconstructs an antediluvian from fragmentary bones 
and teeth. She appeared to be interested, listened attentively, 
but said little in reply. They were ultimately in a long narrow 
passage, indifferently lighted, when Somerset, treading on a 
loose stone, felt a twinge of weakness in one knee, and knew 
in a moment that it was the result of the twist given by his 
yesterday’s fall. He paused, leaning against the wall. 

“ What is it ? ” said Paula, with a sudden timidity in her 
voice. 

“ I slipped down yesterday,” he said. “ It will be right in 
a moment.” 

“ i — can I help you ? ” said Paula. But she did not come 
near him ; indeed, she withdrew a little. She looked up the 


7 2 


A LAODICEAN. 


passage, and down the passage, and became conscious that it 
was long and gloomy, and that nobody was near. A curious 
coy uneasiness seemed to take possession of her. Whether she 
thought, for the first time, that she had made a mistake — that 
to wander about the castle alone with him was compromising, 
or whether it was the mere shy instinct of maidenhood, nobody 
knows ; but she said suddenly, “ I will get something for you, 
and return in a few minutes.” 

“ Pray don't— it has quite passed ! ” he said, stepping out 
again. 

But Paula had vanished. When she came back it was in the 
rear of Charlotte De Stancy. Miss De Stancy had a tumbler 
in one hand, half full of wine, which she offered him; Paula 
remaining in the background. 

He took the glass, and, to satisfy his companions, drank a 
mouthful or two, though there was really nothing whatever the 
matter with him beyond the slight ache above mentioned. 
Charlotte was going to retire, but Paula said, quite anxiously, 
“You will stay with me, Charlotte, won’t you ? Surely you are 
interested in what I am doing ? ” 

“ What is it ? ” said Miss De Stancy. 

“ Planning how to mend and enlarge the castle. Tell 
Mr. Somerset what I want done in the quadrangle — you 
know quite well — and I will walk on.” 

She walked on ; but instead of talking on the subject as 
directed, Charlotte and Somerset followed chatting on indiffe- 
rent matters. They came to an inner court not unlike a 
cloister-garth, and found Paula standing there. 

She met Miss De Stancy with a smile. “ Did you explain ? ” 
she asked. 

“I have not explained yet.” Paula seated herself on a 
stone bench, and Charlotte went on : “ Miss Power thought of 
making a Greek court of this. But she will not tell you so 
herself, because it seems such dreadful anachronism.” 

“ I said I would not tell any architect myself,” interposed 
Paula, correctingly. “ I did not then know that he would be 
Mr. Somerset.” 

“ It is rather startling,” said Somerset. 

“ A Greek colonnade all round, you said, Paula,” continued 
her less reticent companion. “ A peristyle you called it — you 
saw it in a book, don’t you remember ? — and then you were 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


73 

going to have a fountain in the middle, and statues like those 
in the British Museum.” 

“ I did say so,” remarked Paula, pulling the leaves from a 
young sycamore-tree that had sprung up between the joints of 
the paving. 

From the spot where they sat they could see over the roofs 
the upper part of the great tower wherein Somerset had met 
with his misadventure. The tower stood boldly up in the sun, 
and from one of the slits in the corner something white waved 
in the breeze. 

“ What can that be ? ” said Charlotte. “ Is it the fluff of 
owls, or a handkerchief ? ” 

“It is my handkerchief,” Somerset answered, carelessly. 
“ I fixed it there with a stone to attract attention, and forgot 
to take it away.” 

All three looked up at the handkerchief with interest. 
“ Why did you want to attract attention ? ” asked Paula, in a 
low voice. 

“ Gh, I fell into the turret : but I got out very easily.” 

“ Oh, Paula,” said Charlotte, turning to her friend. “ That 
must be the place where the man fell in, years ago, and was 
starved to death ! ” 

“ Starved to death ? ” said Paula. 

“ They say so. Oh, Mr. Somerset, what an escape ! ” And 
Charlotte De Stancy walked away to a point from which she 
could get a better view of the treacherous turret. 

“Whom did you think to attract?” asked Paula, after a 
pause. 

“ I thought you might see it.” 

“ Me personally ? ” And, blushing faintly, her eyes rested 
upon him. 

“ I hoped for anybody. I thought of you,” said Somerset. 

She did not continue. In a moment she arose and went 
across to Miss De Stancy. “ Don’t you go falling down and 
becoming a skeleton,” she said — Somerset overheard the words, 
though Paula was unaware of it — after which she clasped her 
fingers behind Charlotte’s neck, and smiled tenderly in her face. 

It seemed to be quite unconsciously done, and Somerset 
thought it a very beautiful action. Presently Paula returned to 
him and said, “Mr. Somerset, I think we have had enough 
architecture for to-day.” 


74 


A LAODICEAN. 


The two women then wished him good morning and went 
away. Somerset, feeling that he had now every reason for 
prowling about the castle, remained near the spot, endeavouring 
to evolve some plan of procedure for the project entertained by 
the beautiful owner of those weather- scathed walls. But for a 
long time the mental perspective of his new position so excited 
the emotional side of his nature that he could not concentrate 
it on feet and inches. As Paula’s architect (supposing Havill 
not to be admitted as a competitor), he must of necessity be in 
constant communication with her for a space of two or three 
years to come ; and particularly during the next few months. 
She, doubtless, cherished far too ambitious views of her career 
to feel any personal interest in this enforced relationship with 
him ; but he would be at liberty to feel what he chose : and to 
be the victim of an unrequited passion, while afforded such 
splendid opportunities of communion with the one beloved, 
deprived that passion of its most deplorable features. Ac- 
cessibility is a great point in matters of love, and perhaps of the 
two there is less misery in loving without return a goddess who 
is to be seen and spoken to every day, than in having an affec- 
tion tenderly reciprocated by one always hopelessly removed. 

With this view of having to spend a considerable time in the 
neighbourhood, Somerset shifted his quarters that afternoon 
from the little inn at Sleeping-Green to the King’s Arms Hotel 
at Markton. He required more rooms in which to carry out 
Paula’s instructions than the former place afforded, and a more 
central position. Having reached and dined at the King’s 
Arms he found the evening tedious, and again strolled out in 
the direction of the castle. 

When he reached it the light was declining, and a solemn 
stillness overspread the pile. The great tower was in full view. 
That spot of white which looked like a pigeon fluttering from 
the loophole was his handkerchief, still hanging in the place 
where he had left it. His eyes yet lingered on the walls when 
he noticed, with surprise, that the handkerchief suddenly 
vanished. 

Believing that the breezes, though weak below, might have 
been strong enough at that height to blow it into the turret, 
and in no hurry to get off the premises, he leisurely climbed up 
to find it, ascending by the second staircase, crossing the roof, 
and going to the top of the treacherous turret The ladder by 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


75 


which he had escaped still stood within it, and beside the ladder 
he beheld the dim outline of a woman, in a meditative attitude, 
holding his handkerchief in her hand. 

Somerset felt himself an intruder and softly withdrew. When 
he had reached the ground he looked up. A girlish form was 
standing at the top of the tower looking over the parapet upon 
him — possibly not seeing him, for it was dark on the lawn. It 
was either Miss De Stancy or Paula ; one of them had gone 
there alone for his handkerchief and had remained awhile, 
pondering on his escape. But which ? “ If I were not a 

faint-heart I should run all risk and wave my hat or kiss my 
hand to her, whoever she is,” he thought. But he was 
faint-hearted in the circumstances, and did not do either, 
feeling that, if it were Miss Power, her acquaintance was too 
desirable a thing to be trifled with, even by an act which would 
easily have borne the interpretation of playful gallantry. 

So he lingered about silently in the shades, and then thought 
of strolling to his rooms at Markton. Just at leaving, as he 
passed under the inhabited wing, whence one or two lights now 
blinked, he heard a piano, and a voice singing “ The Mistletoe 
Bough.” The song had probably been suggested to the 
romantic fancy of the singer by her visit to the scene of his 
captivity. 


CHAPTER XI. 

The identity of the lady whom he had seen on the tower and 
afterwards heard singing was established the next day. 

“ I have been thinking,” said Miss Power, on meeting him, 
“ that you may require a studio on the premises. If so, the 
one I showed you yesterday as suitable for such a purpose is at 
your service. If I employ Mr. Havill to compete with you I 
will offer him a similar one.” 

Somerset did not decline; and when they had discussed 
further arrangements she added, “ In the same room you will 
find the handkerchief that was left on the tower.” 

“Ah, I saw that it was gone. Somebody brought it 
down ? ” 


76 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ I did,” she shyly remarked, looking up for a second 
under her shady hat-brim. 

“ I am much obliged to you.” 

“ Oh no — that’s not necessary. I went up last night to see 
where the accident happened, and there I found it. When 
you came up were you in search of it, or did you want me ? ” 

“ Then she saw me,” he thought. “ I went for the hand- 
kerchief only; I was not aware that you were there,” he 
answered simply. It could hardly be assumed that she was 
conscious of any sentimental meaning which might have been 
attached to her words “ Did you want me ? ” and he involun- 
tarily sighed. 

It was very soft, but she might have heard him, for there 
was interest in her voice as she continued, “ Did you see me 
before you went back ? ” 

“ I did not know it was you ; I saw that some lady was 
there, and I would not disturb her. I wondered all the evening 
if it were you.” 

Paula hastened to explain : “We understood that you would 
stay to dinner, and as you did not come in we wondered where 
you were. That made me think of your accident, and after 
dinner I went up to the place where it happened.” 

Somerset almost wished she had not explained so lucidly. 

And now followed the piquant days to which his position as 
her architect, or, at worst, as one of her two architects, natu- 
rally led. His anticipations were for once surpassed by the 
reality. Perhaps Somerset’s inherent unfitness for a professional 
life under ordinary circumstances was only proved by his great 
zest for it now. Had he been in regular practice, with 
numerous other clients, instead of having merely made a start 
with this one, he would have totally neglected their business in 
his exclusive attention to Paula’s. 

The idea of a competition between Somerset and Havill had 
been highly approved by Paula’s solicitor, but she would not 
assent to it as yet, seeming quite vexed that Somerset should 
not have taken the good the gods provided without questioning 
her justice to Havill. The room she had offered him was 
prepared as a studio. Drawing-boards and Whatman’s paper 
were sent for, and in a few days Somerset began serious labour. 
His first requirement was a clerk or two, to do the drudgery 
of measuring and figuring; but for the present he preferred 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


77 


to sketch alone. Sometimes, in measuring the outworks of 
the castle, he ran against Havill strolling about with no 
apparent object, who bestowed on him an envious nod, and 
passed by. 

“ I hope you will not roughly make your sketches,” she said, 
looking in upon him one day, with serio-play fulness, as he sat 
in the room which had been lent him, “ and then go away to 
your studio in London and think of your other buildings and 
forget mine. I am in haste to begin, and wish you not to 
neglect me.” 

“ I have no other building to think of,” said Somerset, rising 
and placing a chair for her. “ I had not begun practice, as 
you may know. I have nothing else in hand but your castle.” 

“ I suppose I ought not to say I am glad of it ; but it is 
an advantage to have an architect all to one’s self. The archi- 
tect whom I at first thought of told me before I knew you that 
if I placed the castle in his hands he would undertake no other 
commission till its completion.” 

“ I agree to the same,” said Somerset. 

“ I don’t wish to bind you,” she returned. “ But I hinder 
you now — do pray go on without reference to me. When will 
there be some drawing for me to see ? ” 

“ I will take care that it shall be soon.” 

He had a metallic tape in his hand, and went out of the 
room to take some dimension in the corridor. As the assistant 
for whom he had advertised had not arrived, he attempted to 
fix the end of the tape by sticking his penknife through the 
ring into the wall. Paula looked on at a distance. 

“ I will hold it,” she said, after watching in silence for some 
time and seeing his difficulty. 

She went to the required comer and held the end in its 
place. She had taken it the wrong way, and Somerset went 
over and placed it properly in her fingers, carefully avoiding 
to touch them. He did this without speaking ; she obediently 
raised her hand to the corner again, and stood till he had 
finished, when she asked, “ Is that all ? ” 

“ That is all,” said Somerset. “Thank you.” Without 
further speech she looked at his sketch-book, while he marked 
down the lines just acquired. * 

“ You said the other day,” she observed, “ that early Gothic 
work might be known by the under-cutting, or something to 


78 


A LAODICEAN. 


that effect. I have looked in Rickman and the Oxford 
Glossary, but I cannot quite understand what you meant.” 

It was only too evident to her lover, from the way in which 
she turned to him, that she had looked in Rickman and the 
Glossary, and was thinking of nothing in the world but of the 
subject of her inquiry. 

“ I can show you, by actual example, if you will come to the 
chapel ? ” he returned, hesitatingly. 

“ Don’t go on purpose to show me — when you are there on 
your own account I will come in.” 

“ I shall be there in half an hour.” 

“Very well,” said Paula. She looked out of a window, and, 
seeing Miss De Stancy on the terrace, left him. 

Somerset stood thinking of what he had said. He had no 
occasion whatever to go into the chapel of the castle that day. 
He had been tempted by her words to say he would be there, 
and “ half an hour ” had come to his lips almost without his 
knowledge. This community of interest — if it were not any- 
thing more tender — was growing serious. What had passed 
between them amounted to an appointment ; they were going 
to meet in the most solitary chamber of the whole solitary pile. 
Could it be that Paula had well considered this in replying with 
her friendly “ Very well ? ” Probably not. She might think 
of it between now and then, and might not come. 

Somerset proceeded to the chapel and waited. With the 
progress of the seconds towards the half-hour he began to dis- 
cover that a dangerous admiration for this girl had risen within 
him. Yet so imaginative was his passion that he hardly knew 
a single feature of her countenance well enough to remember 
it in her absence. The meditative judgment of things and men 
which had been his habit up to the moment of seeing her in 
the Baptist chapel seemed to have left him — nothing remained 
but a distracting wish to be always near her, and it was quite 
with dismay that he recognised what immense importance he 
was attaching to the question whether she would keep the 
trifling engagement or not 

The chapel of Stancy Castle was a silent place, heaped up in 
comers with a lumber of old panels, framework, and broken 
coloured glass. Here no clock could be heard beating out the 
hours of the day — here no voice of priest or deacon had for 
generations uttered the daily service denoting how the year 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


79 


rolls on. The stagnation of the spot was sufficient to draw 
Somerset’s mind for a moment from the subject which absorbed 
it, and he thought, “ So, too, will time triumph over all this 
fervour within me.” 

The sombre mood quite vanished when, lifting his eyes from 
the floor on which his foot had been tapping nervously, he saw 
Paula standing at the other end. It was not so pleasant when 
he also saw that Mrs. Goodman accompanied her. The latter 
lady, however, obligingly remained where she was resting, 
while Paula came forward, and, as usual, paused with an affable 
glance without speaking. 

“ It is in this little arcade that the example occurs,” said 
Somerset. 

“ Oh yes,” she answered, turning to look at it. 

“ Early piers, capitals, and mouldings, generally alternated 
with deep hollows, so as to form strong shadows. Now look 
under the abacus of this capital; you will find the stone 
hollowed out wonderfully ; and also in this arch-mould. It is 
often difficult to understand how it could be done without 
cracking off the stone. The difference between this and late 
work can be felt by the hand even better than it can be seen.” 
He suited the action to the word and placed his hand in the 
hollow. 

She listened attentively, then stretched up her own hand to 
test the cutting as he had done ; she was not quite tall enough ; 
she would step upon this piece of wood. Having done so she 
tried again, and succeeded in putting her finger on the spot. 
No ; she could not understand it through her glove even now. 
She pulled off her glove, and, her hand resting in the stone 
channel, her eyes became abstracted in the effort of realisation, 
the ideas derived through her hand passing into her face. 

“No, I am not sure now,” she said. 

Somerset placed his own hand in the cavity. Now their two 
hands were close together again. They had been close to- 
gether half an hour earlier, and he had sedulously avoided 
touching hers. He dared not let such an accident happen now. 
And yet — surely she saw the situation ! Was the inscrutable 
seriousness with which she applied herself to his lesson a 
mockery? There was such a bottomless depth in her eyes 
that it was impossible to guess truly. Let it be that destiny alone 
had ruled that their lands should be together a second time. 


8o 


A LAODICEAN. 


All rumination was cut short by an impulse. He seized h et 
forefinger between his own finger and thumb, and drew it along 
the hollow, saying, “ That is the curve I mean.” 

Somerset’s hand was hot and trembling; Paula’s, on the 
contrary, was cool and soft as an infant’s. 

“ Now the arch-mould,” continued he. “ There — the depth 
of that cavity is tremendous, and it is not geometrical, as in later 
work.” He drew her unresisting fingers from the capital to the 
arch, and laid them in the little trench as before. 

She allowed them to rest quietly there till he relinquished 
them. “ Thank you,” she then said, withdrawing her hand 
brushing the dust from her finger-tips, and putting on her glove. 

Her imperception of his feeling was the very sublimity of 
maiden innocence if it were real ; if not, well, the coquetry was 
no great sin. But he would not think of it as pretence or 
flirtation ; the pleasure of this day would be marred by such 
commonplace suppositions. 

“ Mr. Somerset, will you allow me to have the Greek court I 
mentioned ? ” she asked tentatively, after a long break in their 
discourse, as she scanned the green stones along the base of the 
arcade, with a conjectural countenance as to his reply. 

“ Will your own feeling for the genius of the place allow 
you ? ” 

“ I am not a medisevalist : I am an eclectic.” 

“You don’t dislike your own house on that account.” 

“ I did at first — I don’t so much now. ... I should love 
it, and adore every stone, and think feudalism the only true 
romance of life, if ” 

“ What ? ” 

“ If I were a De Stancy, and the castle the long home of my 
forefathers.” 

Somerset was a little surprised at the avowal : the minister’s 
words on the effects of her new environment recurred to his 
mind. “ Miss De Stancy doesn’t think so,” he said. “ She 
cares nothing about those things.” 

Paula now turned to him : hitherto her remarks had been 
sparingly spoken, her eyes being directed elsewhere : “ Yes, 
that is very strange, is it not ? ” she said. “ But it is owing to 
the joyous freshness of her nature, which precludes her from 
dwelling on the past — indeed, the past is no more to her than 
it is to a sparrow or robin. She is scarcely an instance of the 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


81 


wearing out of old families, for a younger mental constitution 
than hers I never knew.” 

“ Unless that very simplicity represents the second child- 
hood of her line, rather than her own exclusive character.” 

Paula shook her head. “ In spite of the Greek court, she is 
more Greek than I.” 

“ You represent science rather than art, perhaps.” 

“ How ? ” she asked quickly, glancing from under her hat. 

“ I mean,” replied Somerset, “ that you represent the march 
of mind — the steamship, and the railway, and the thoughts 
that shake mankind.” 

She weighed his words, and said slowly : “ Ah, yes : you 
allude to my father. My father was a great man ; but I am 
more and more forgetting his greatness : that kind of greatness 
is what a woman can never truly enter into. I am less and 
less his daughter every day that goes by.” 

She walked away a few steps to rejoin the excellent Mrs. 
Goodman, who, as Somerset still perceived, was waiting for 
Paula at the discreetest of distances in the shadows at the 
farther end of the building. Surely Paula’s voice had faltered, 
and she had turned to hide a tear ; were he sure of that, the 
ambiguous manner, which he could not unriddle, would have 
no cold-hearted meaning in it, but would be only an external 
peculiarity of her nature. 

She came back again. “ Did you know that my father made 
half the railways in Europe, including that one over there ? ” 
she said, waving her little gloved hand in the direction whence 
low rumbles were occasionally heard during the day. 

“ Yes.” 

“ How did you know ? ” 

“ Miss De Stancy told me a little ; and I then found his name 
and doings were quite familiar to me.” 

Curiously enough, or perhaps naturally, since it was a main line 
of railway, with his words there came through the broken windows 
the murmur of a train in the distance, sounding clearer and more 
clear. It was nothing to listen to, yet they both listened ; till 
the increasing noise suddenly broke off into dead silence. 

‘‘It has gone into the tunnel,” said Paula. “Have you 
seen the tunnel my father made ? the curves are said to be a 
triumph of science. There is nothing else like it in this part of 
England.” 


82 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ There is not : I have heard so. But I have not seen it.” 

“ Do you think it a thing more to be proud of that one’s 
father should have made a great tunnel and railway like that, 
than that one’s remote ancestor should have built a great castle 
like this?” 

What could Somerset say ? It would have required a casuist 
to decide whether his answer should depend upon his conviction, 
or upon the family ties of such a questioner. His own family 
had been rather of the high old-fashioned sort, he himself was 
rather an artist than a man of science ; and had his interrogator 
been a De Stancy, there is not much doubt about the answer 
that would have risen spontaneously to his lips. “ From a 
modern point of view, railways are, no doubt, things more to be 
proud of than castles,” he said ; “ though perhaps I myself, 
from mere association, should decide in favour of the ancestor 
who built the castle.” The serious anxiety that Somerset threw 
into his observation, as if nothing but honest truth were avail- 
able, was more than the circumstance required. But she her- 
self was in such a thoughtful mood that mere politeness without 
conviction would, after all, hardly have met the case. “ To 
design great engineering works,” he added musingly, and with- 
out the least eye to the disparagement of her parent, “ requires 
no doubt a leading mind. But to execute them requires, of 
course, only a following mind.” 

His reply did not altogether please her ; and there was a 
distinct reproach conveyed by her slight movement towards 
Mrs. Goodman. He saw it, and was grieved that he should 
have spoken so. “ I am going to walk over and inspect that 
famous tunnel of your father’s,” he added gently. “ It will be 
a pleasant study for this afternoon.” 

She went away. “ I am no man of the world,” he thought 
“ I ought to have praised that father of hers straight off. I 
shall not win her respect ; much less her love 1 ” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


83 


CHAPTER XII. 

Somerset did not forget what he had planned, and when 
lunch was over he walked away through the trees. The tunnel 
was more difficult of discovery than he had anticipated, and 
it was only after considerable winding among green lanes, 
whose deep ruts were like Canons of Colorado in miniature, 
that he reached the slope in the distant upland where the 
tunnel began. A road stretched over its crest, and thence 
along one side of the railway-cutting. 

He there unexpectedly saw standing Miss Power’s carriage ; 
and on drawing nearer he found it to contain Paula herself, 
Miss De Stancy, and Mrs. Goodman. 

“ How singular ! ” exclaimed Miss De Stancy gaily. 

“ It is most natural,” said Paula instantly. “ In the morning 
two people discuss a feature in the landscape, and in the after- 
noon each has a desire to see it from what the other has said 
of it. Therefore they accidentally meet.” 

Now Paula had distinctly heard Somerset declare that he 
was going to walk there ; how then could she say this so cooly ? 
It was with a pang at his heart that he returned to his old 
thought of her being possibly a finished coquette and dis- 
sembler. Whatever she might be, she was not a creature 
starched very stiffly by Puritanism. 

Somerset looked down on the mouth of the tunnel. The ab- 
surdity of the popular commonplace that science, steam, and 
travel must always be unromantic and hideous, was proved on 
the spot. On either slope of the deep cutting, green with long 
grass, grew drooping young trees of ash, beech, and other flex- 
ible varieties, their foliage almost concealing the actual railway 
which ran along the bottom, its thin steel rails gleaming like 
silver threads in the depths. The vertical front of the tunnel, 
faced with brick that had once been red, was now weather-stained, 
lichened, and mossed over in harmonious hues of rusty-browns, 
pearly greys, and neutral greens, at the very base appearing a 
little blue-black spout like a mouse-hole — the tunnel’s mouth. 

g 2 


8 4 


A LAODICEAN, 


The carriage was drawn up quite close to the wood railing, 
and Paula was looking down at the same time with him ; but 
he made no remark to her. 

Mrs. Goodman broke the silence by saying, “If it were not 
a railway we should call it a lovely dell.” 

Somerset agreed with her, adding that it was so charming 
that he felt inclined to go down. 

“ If you do, perhaps Miss Power will order you up again, as 
a trespasser,” said Charlotte De Stancy. “ You are one of 
the largest shareholders in the railway, are you not, Paula ? ” 

Miss Power did not reply. 

“ I suppose as the road is partly yours you might walk all 
the way to London along the rails, if you wished, might you 
not, dear ? ” Charlotte continued. 

Paula smiled, and said, “ No, of course not.” 

Somerset, feeling himself superfluous, raised his hat to his 
companions as if he meant not to see them again for a while, 
and began to descend by some steps cut in the earth, when 
Miss De Stancy asked Mrs. Goodman to accompany her to a 
barrow over the top of the tunnel ; and they left the carriage, 
Paula remaining alone. 

Down Somerset plunged through the long grass, bushes, late 
summer flowers, moths, and caterpillars, vexed with himself that 
he had come there, since Paula was so inscrutable, and humming 
the notes of some song he did not know. The tunnel that had 
seemed so small from the surface was a vast archway when he 
reached its mouth, which emitted, as a contrast to the sultry 
heat on the slopes of the cutting, a cool breeze, that had 
travelled a mile underground from the other end. Far away 
in the darkness of this silent subterranean corridor he could 
see that other end as a mere speck of light. 

When he had conscientiously admired the construction of 
the massive archivault, and the majesty of its nude ungarnished 
walls, he looked up the slope at the carriage ; it was so small 
to the eye that it might have been made for a performance by 
canaries ; Paula’s face being still smaller, as she leaned back 
in her seat, idly looking down at him. There seemed some- 
thing roguish in her attitude of criticism, and to be no longer 
the subject of her contemplation he entered the tunnel out of 
her sight. 

In the middle of the speck of light before him appeared a 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


85 


speck of black ; and then a shrill whistle, dulled by millions of 
tons of earth, reached his ears from thence. It was what he 
had been on his guard against all the time, — a passing train ; 
and instead of taking the trouble to come out of the tunnel he 
stepped into a recess, till the train had rattled past, and 
vanished onward round a curve. 

Somerset still remained where he had placed himself, 
mentally balancing science against art, the grandeur of this 
fine piece of construction against that of the castle, and 
thinking whether Paula’s father had not, after all, the best of 
it, when all at once he saw Paula’s form confronting him at che 
entrance of the tunnel. He instantly went forward into the 
light where she was ; to his surprise she was as pale as a lily. 

“ Oh, Mr. Somerset ! ” she exclaimed, impulsively. “ You 
ought not to frighten me so — indeed you ought not ! The 
train came out almost as soon as you had gone in, and as you 
did not return — an accident was possible ! ” 

Somerset at once perceived that he had been to blame in 
not thinking of this. 

“ Please do forgive my thoughtlessness in not reflecting how 
it would strike you ! ” he pleaded. “ I — I see I have alarmed 
you.” 

Her alarm was, indeed, much greater than he had at first 
thought: she trembled so much that she was obliged to sit 
down, at which he went up to her full of solicitousness. 

“ You ought not to have done it ! ” she said. “ I naturally 
thought — any person would ” 

Somerset, perhaps wisely, said nothing at this outburst ; the 
cause of her vexation was, plainly enough, his perception of 
her discomposure. He stood looking in another direction, till 
in a few moments she had risen to her feet again, quite calm. 

“ It would have been dreadful,” she said with faint gaiety, as 
the colour returned to her face ; “ if I had lost my architect, 
and been obliged to engage Mr. Havill without an alternative.” 

“ I was really in no danger ; but of course I ought to have 
considered,” he said. 

“I forgive you,” she returned good-naturedly. “I knew 
there was no great danger to a person exercising ordinary dis- 
cretion ; but artists and thinkers like you are indiscreet for a 
moment sometimes. I am now going up again. What do 
you think of the tunnel ? ” 


86 


A LAODICEAN. 


They were crossing the railway to ascend by the opposite 
path, Somerset keeping his eye on the interior of the tunnel 
for safety, when suddenly there arose a noise and shriek from 
the contrary direction behind the trees. Both knew in a 
moment what it meant, and each seized the other as they 
rushed off the permanent way. The ideas of both had been so 
centred on the tunnel as the source of danger, that the pro- 
bability of a train from the opposite quarter had been forgotten. 
It rushed past them, causing Paula’s dress, hair, and ribbons 
to flutter violently, and blowing up the fallen leaves in a 
shower over their shoulders. 

Neither spoke, and they went up several steps, holding each 
other by the hand, till, becoming conscious of the fact, she 
withdrew hers ; whereupon Somerset stopped and looked 
earnestly at her ; but her eyes were averted towards the tunnel 
wall. 

“ What an escape ! ” he said. 

“We were not so very near, I think, were we?” she asked 
quickly. “ If we were, I think you were — very good to take my 
hand.” 

They reached the top at last, and the new level and open 
air seemed to give her a new mind. “ I don’t see the carriage 
anywhere,” she said, in the common tones of civilisation. 

He thought it had gone over the crest of the hill ; he would 
accompany her till they reached it. 

“ No — please — I would rather not — I can find it very well.” 
Before he could say more she had inclined her head and smiled 
and was on her way alone. 

The tunnei-cutting appeared a dreary gulf enough now to 
the young man, as he stood leaning over the rails above it, 
beating the herbage with his stick. For some minutes he could 
not criticise or weigh her conduct ; the warmth of her presence 
still encircled him. He recalled her face as it had looked 
out at him from under the white silk puffing of her black hat, 
and the speaking power of her eyes a the moment of danger. 
The breadth of that clear-complex oned forehead — almost 
concealed by the masses of brown hair bundled up around it 
— signified that if her disposition were oblique and insincere 
enough for trifling, coquetting, or in any way making a fool of 
him, she had the intellect to do it cruelly well. 

But it was ungenerous to ruminate so suspiciously. A girl 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


87 


not an actress by profession could hardly turn pale artificially 
as she had done, though perhaps mere fright meant nothing, 
and would have arisen in her just as readily had he been one 
of the labourers on her estate. Upon the whole it was a 
perplexity. 

The reflection that such feeling as she had exhibited could 
have no tender meaning returned upon him with masterful 
force when he thought of her wealth and the social position 
into which she had drifted. Somerset, being of a solitary and 
studious nature, was not quite competent to estimate precisely 
the disqualifying effect, if any, of her nonconformity, her new- 
ness of blood, and other things, among the old county families 
established round her ; but the toughest prejudices, he thought, 
were not likely to be long invulnerable to such cheerful beauty 
and brightness of intellect as Paula’s. When she emerged, as 
she was plainly about to do, from the comparative seclusion in 
which she had been living since her father’s death, she would 
inevitably win her way among her neighbours. She would 
become the local topic. Fortune-hunters would learn of her 
existence and draw near in shoals. What chance would there 
then be for him ? 

The points in his favour were indeed few, but they were just 
enough to keep a tantalising hope alive. Modestly leaving out 
of count his personal and intellectual qualifications, he thought 
of his family. It was an old stock enough, though not a rich 
one. His great-uncle had been the well-known Vice-admiral 
Sir Armstrong Somerset, who served his country well in 4 the 
Baltic, the Indies, China, and the Caribbean Sea. His grand- 
father had been a notable metaphysician. His father, the 
Royal Academician, was popular. But perhaps this was not 
the sort of reasoning likely to occupy the mind of a young 
woman ; the personal aspect of the situation was in such cir- 
cumstances of far more import. He had come as a wandering 
stranger — that possibly lent some interest to him in her eyes. 
He was installed in an office which would necessitate free 
communion with her for some time to come ; that was another 
advantage, and would be a still greater one if she showed, as 
Paula seemed disposed to do, such artistic sympathy with 
his work as to follow up with interest the details of its progress. 

The carriage did not reappear, and he went on towards 
Markton, disinclined to return again that day to the studio 


88 


A LAODICEAN. 


which had been prepared for him at the castle. He heard 
feet brushing the grass behind him, and, looking round, saw 
the Baptist minister. 

“ I have just come from the village,” said Mr. Woodwell, 
who looked worn and weary, his boots being covered with 
dust, “ and I have learnt that which confirms my fears for her.” 

“ For Miss Power?” 

“ Most assuredly.” 

“ What danger is there ? ” said Somerset. 

“ The temptations of her position have become too much for 
her ! She is going out of mourning next week, and will give a 
large dinner-party on the occasion ; for though the invitations 
are partly in the name of her relative Mrs. Goodman, they 
must come from her. The guests are to include people of old 
cavalier families who would have treated her grandfather, sir, 
and even her father, with scorn for their religion and connec- 
tions; also the parson and curate — yes, actually people who 
believe in the Apostolic Succession ; and what’s more, they’re 
coming. My opinion is, that it has all arisen from her friend- 
ship with Miss De Stancy.” 

“ Well,” cried Somerset, warmly, “ this only shows liberality 
of feeling on both sides ! I suppose she has invited you as 
well ? ” 

“ She has not invited me ! . . . Mr. Somerset, notwithstand- 
ing your erroneous opinions on important matters, I speak to 
you as a friend, and I tell you that she has never in her secret 
heart forgiven that sermon of mine, in which I likened her to 
the church at Laodicea. I admit the words were harsh, but I 
was doing my duty, and if the case arose to-morrow I would do 
it again. Her displeasure is a deep grief to me ; but I serve 
One greater than she. . . . You, of course, are invited to this 
dinner ? ” 

“ I have heard nothing of it,” murmured the young man. 

Their paths diverged ; and when Somerset reached the 
King’s Arms Hotel he was informed that somebody was 
waiting to see him. 

“ Man or woman ? ” he asked. 

The landlady, who always liked to reply in person to Somer- 
set’s inquiries, apparently thinking him, by virtue of his drawing 
implements and liberality of payment, a possible lord of 
Burleigh, came forward and said it was certainly not a woman ? 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 89 

but whether man or boy she could not say. “ His name is Mr. 
Dare,” she added. 

“ Oh — that youth,” he said. 

Somerset went upstairs, along the passage, down two steps, 
round the angle, and so on to the rooms reserved for him in 
this rambling edifice of stage-coach memories, where he found 
Dare waiting. Dare came forward, pulling out the cutting of 
an advertisement. 

“ Mr. Somerset, this is yours, I believe, from the Architectural 
World 1” 

Somerset said that he had inserted it. 

“ I think I should suit your purpose as assistant very well.” 

“ Are you an architect’s draughtsman ? ” 

“ Not specially. I have some knowledge of the same, and 
want to increase it.” 

“ I thought you were a photographer.” 

“ Also of photography,” said Dare with a bow. “ Though 
but an amateur in that art I can challenge comparison with 
Regent Street or Broadway.” 

Somerset looked upon his table. Two letters only, addressed 
in initials, were lying there as answers to his advertisement. 
He asked Dare to wait, and looked them over. Neither 
was satisfactory. On this account he overcame his slight 
feeling against Mr. Dare, and put a question to test that 
gentleman’s capacities. “ How would you measure the front 
of a building, including windows, doors, mouldings, and every 
other feature, for a ground plan, so as to combine the greatest 
accuracy with the greatest despatch ? ” 

“ In running dimensions,” said Dare. 

As this was the particular kind of work he wanted done, 
Somerset thought the answer promising. Coming to terms 
with Dare, he requested the would-be student of architecture to 
wait at the castle the next day, and dismissed him. 

A quarter of an hour later, when Dare was taking a walk in 
the country, he drew from his pocket eight other letters 
addressed to Somerset in initials, which, to judge by their style 
and stationery, were from men far superior to those two whose 
communications alone Somerset had seen. Dare looked them 
over for a few seconds as he strolled on, then tore them into 
minute fragments, and, burying them under the leaves in the 
ditch, went on his way again. 


90 


A LAODICEAN. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Though exhibiting indifference, Somerset had felt a pang of 
disappointment when he heard the news of Paula’s approaching 
dinner-party. It seemed a little unkind of her to pass him 
over, seeing how much they were thrown together just now. 
That dinner meant more than it sounded. Notwithstanding 
the roominess of her castle, she was at present living some- 
what incommodiously, owing partly to the stagnation caused 
by her recent bereavement, and partly to the necessity for 
overhauling the De Stancy lumber piled in those vast and 
gloomy chambers before they could be made tolerable to 
nineteenth-century fastidiousness. 

To give dinners on any large scale before Somerset had at 
least set a few of these rooms in order for her, showed, to his 
thinking, an overpowering desire for society. 

During the week he saw less of her than usual, her time 
being to all appearance much taken up with driving out to 
make calls on her neighbours and receiving return visits. All 
this he observed from the windows of his studio overlooking 
the castle ward, in which room he now spent a great deal of 
his time, bending over drawing-boards and instructing Dare, 
who worked as well as could be expected of a youth of such 
varied attainments. 

Nearer came the Wednesday of the party, and no hint of 
that event reached Somerset, but such as had been communi- 
cated by the Baptist minister. At last, on the very afternoon, 
an invitation was handed into his studio — not a kind note in 
Paula’s handwriting, but a formal printed card in the joint 
names of Mrs. Goodman and Miss Power. It reached him 
just four hours before the dinner-time. He was plainly to be 
used as a stop-gap at the last moment because somebody could 
not come. 

Having previously arranged to pass a quiet evening in his 
rooms at the King’s Arms, in reading up chronicles of the 
castle from the county history, with the view of gathering some 


GEORGE SOMERSET \ 


9i 

ideas as to the distribution of rooms therein before the demoli- 
tion of a portion of the structure, he decided off-hand that 
Paula’s dinner was not of sufficient importance to him as a 
professional man and student of art to justify a waste of the 
evening by going. He accordingly declined Mrs. Goodman’s 
and Miss Power’s invitation ; and at five o’clock left the castle 
and walked across the fields to the little town. 

He dined early, and, clearing away heaviness with a cup of 
coffee, applied himself to that volume of the county history 
which contained the record of Stancy Castle. 

Here he read that “ when this picturesque and ancient 
structure was founded, or by whom, is extremely uncertain. 
But that a castle stood on the site in very early times appears 
from many old books of charters. In its prime it was such a 
masterpiece of fortification as to be the wonder of the world, 
and it was thought, before the invention of gunpowder, that it 
never could be taken by any force less than divine.” 

He read on to the times when it first passed into the hands 
of “ De Stancy, Chivaler,” and received the family name, and 
so on from De Stancy to De Stancy till he was lost in the 
reflection whether Paula would or would not have thought more 
highly of him if he had accepted the invitation to dinner. 
Applying himself again to the tome, he learnt that in the year 
1504 Stephen the carpenter was “paid eleven pence for 
necessarye repay rs,” and William the mastermason eight 
shillings “ for whyt lyming of the kitchen, and the lyme to do 
it with,” including “ a new rope for the fyer bell ; ” also the 
sundry charges for “ vij crockes, xiij lytyll pans, a pare of pot 
hookes, a fyer pane, a lanterne, a chafynge dyshe, and xij 
candyll stychs.” 

Bang went eight strokes of the clock : it was the dinner-hour. 

“ There, now I can’t go, anyhow 1 ” he said bitterly, jumping 
up, and picturing her receiving her company. How would she 
look ; what would she wear ? Profoundly indifferent to the early 
history of the noble fabric, he felt a violent reaction towards 
modernism, eclecticism, new aristocracies, everything, in short, 
that Paula represented. He even gave himself up to consider 
the Greek court that she had wished for, and passed the remain- 
der of the evening in making a perspective view of the same. 

The next morning he awoke early, and, resolving to be at 
vork betimes, started promptly. It was a fine calm hour of day ; 

Vol 7 (D) 


92 


A LAODICEAN. 


the grass slopes were silvery with excess of dew, and the blue 
mists hung in the depths of each tree for want of wind to blow 
them out. Somerset entered the drive on foot, and when near 
the castle he observed in the gravel the wheel-marks of the 
carriages that had conveyed the guests thither the night before. 
There seemed to have been a large number, for the road where 
newly repaiied was quite cut up. Before going indoors he was 
tempted to walk round to the wing in which Paula slept. 

Rooks were cawing, sparrows were chattering there ; but the 
blind of her window was as closely drawn as if it were midnight. 
Probably she was sound asleep, dreaming of the compliments 
which had been paid her by her guests, and of the future 
triumphant pleasures that would follow in their train. Reaching 
the outer stone stairs leading to the great hall he found them 
shadowed by an awning brilliantly striped with red and blue, 
within which rows of flowering plants in pots bordered the 
pathway. She could not have made more preparation had the 
gathering been a ball. He passed along the gallery in which 
his studio was situated, entered the room, and seized a 
drawing-board to put into correct drawing the sketch for the 
Greek court that he had struck out the night before, thereby 
abandoning his art principles to please the whim of a girl. 
Dare had not yet arrived, and after a time Somerset threw 
down his pencil and leant back. 

His eye fell upon something that moved. It was white, and 
lay in the folding-chair on the opposite side of the room. On 
near approach he found it to be a fragment of swan’s-down, 
fanned into motion by his own movements, and partially 
squeezed into the chink of the chair as though by some person 
sitting on it. 

None but a woman would have worn or brought that swan’s- 
down into his studio, and it made him reflect on the possible 
one. Nothing interrupted his conjectures till ten o’clock, when 
Dare came. Then one of the servants tapped at the door to 
know if Mr. Somerset had arrived. Somerset asked if Miss 
Power wished to see him, and was informed that she had only 
wished to know if he had come. Somerset sent a return 
message that he had a design on the board which he should 
soon be glad to submit to her, and the messenger departed. 

“Fine doings here last night, sir,” said Dare, as he dusted his 
T-square. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


93 


“ Oh, indeed ! ” 

“ A dinner-party, I hear ; eighteen guests.* 

“ Oh,” said Somerset. 

“ The young lady was magnificent — sapphires and opals — she 
carried as much as a thousand pounds upon her head and 
shoulders during that three or four hours. Of course they call 
her charming; Compuesta no hay muger fea, as they say at 
Madrid.” 

“ I don’t doubt it for a moment,” said Somerset with reserve. 

Dare said no more, and presently the door opened, and there 
stood Paula. 

Somerset nodded to Dare to withdraw into an adjoining 
room, and offered her a chair. 

“ You wish to show me the design you have prepared ? ” she 
asked, without taking the seat. 

“ Yes ; I have come round to your opinion. I have made 
a plan for the Greek court you were anxious to build.” And 
he elevated the drawing-board against the wall. 

She regarded it attentively for some moments, her finger 
resting lightly against her chin, and said, “ I have given up the 
idea of a Greek court.” 

He showed his astonishment, and was almost disappointed. 
He had been grinding up Greek architecture entirely on her 
account ; had wrenched his mind round to this strange 
arrangement, all for nothing. 

“ Yes,” she continued ; “ on reconsideration I perceive the 
want of harmony that would result from inserting such a piece 
of marble-work in a mediaeval fortress ; so in future we will 
limit ourselves strictly to synchronism of style — that is to say, 
make good the Norman work by Norman, the Perpendicular by 
Perpendicular, and so on. I have informed Mr. Havill of the 
same thing.* 

Somerset pulled the Greek drawing off the board, and tore 
it in two pieces. 

She involuntarily turned to look in his face, but stopped 
before she had quite lifted her eyes high enough. “ Why did 
you do that ? ” she asked with suave sauciness. 

“ It is of no further use,” said Somerset, tearing the drawing 
in the other direction, and throwing the pieces into the fire- 
place. “ You have been reading up orders and styles to some 
purpose, I perceive.” He regarded her with a faint smile. 


94 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ 1 have had a few book^ down from town. It is desirable 
to know a little about the architecture of one’s own house.” 

She remained looking at the tom drawing, when Somerset, 
observing on the table the particle of swan’s-down he had found 
in the chair, gently blew it so that it skimmed across the table 
under her eyes. 

“ It looks as if it came off a lady’s dress,” he said idly. 

“ Off a lady’s fan,” she replied. 

“Oh, off a fan?” 

“ Yes ; off mine.” 

At her reply Somerset stretched out his hand for the swan’s- 
down, and put it carefully in his pocket-book ; whereupon 
Paula, moulding her cherry-red lower lip beneath her upper 
one in arch self-consciousness at his act, turned away to the 
window, and after a pause said softly as she looked out, “ Why 
did you not accept our invitation to dinner ? ” 

It was impossible to explain why. He impulsively drew 
near and confronted her, and said, “ I hope you pardon me ? ” 

“ I don’t know that I can quite do that,” answered she, with 
ever so little reproach. “ I know why you did not come — you 
were mortified at not being asked sooner ! But it was purely 
by an accident that you received your invitation so late. My 
aunt sent the others by post, but as yours was to be delivered 
by hand it was left on her table, and was overlooked.” 

Surely he could not doubt her words ; those nice friendly 
accents were the embodiment of truth itself. 

“ I don’t mean to make a serious complaint,” she added, in 
injured tones, showing that she did. “Only we had asked 
nearly all of them to meet you, as the son of your illustrious 
father, whom many of my friends know personally ; and — they 
were disappointed.” 

It was now time for Somerset to be genuinely grieved at 
what he had done. Paula seemed so good and honourable at 
that moment that he could have laid down his life for her. 

“When I was dressed, I came in here to ask you to re- 
consider your decision,” she continued ; “ or to meet us in the 
drawing-room if you could not possibly be ready for dinner. 
But you were gone.” 

“ And you sat down in that chair, didn’t you, darling, and 
remained there a long timemusirg!” he thought. But that 
he did not say. 


GEORGS SOMERSET. 


95 


u I am very sorry,” he murmured. 

“ Will you make amends by coming to our garden-party ? 
I ask you the very first.” 

“ I will,” replied Somerset. To add that it would give him 
great pleasure, etc., seemed an absurdly weak way of expressing 
his feelings, and he said no more. 

“ It is on the nineteenth. Don’t forget the day.” 

He met her eyes in such a way that, if she were woman, she 
must have seen the meaning as plainly as words : “ Do I look 
as if I could forget anything you say ? ” 

She must, indeed, have understood much more by this time 
— the whole of his open secret. But he did not understand 
her. History has revealed that a supernumerary lover or two 
is rarely considered a disadvantage by a woman, from queen to 
cottage-girl ; and the thought made him pause. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

When she was gone he went on with the drawing, not calling 
in Dare, who remained in the room adjoining. Presently a 
servant came and laid a paper on his table, which Miss Power 
had sent. It was one of the morning newspapers, and was 
folded so that his eye fell immediately on a letter headed 
“ Restoration or Demolition.” 

The letter was professedly written by a dispassionate person 
solely in the interests of art. It drew attention to the circum- 
stance that the ancient and interesting castle of the De Stancys 
had unhappily passed into the hands of an iconoclast by blood, 
who, without respect for the tradition of the county, or any 
feeling whatever for history in stone, was about to demolish 
much, if not all, thai*- was interesting in that ancient pile, and 
insert in its midst a monstrous travesty of some Greek temple. 
In the name of all lovers of mediaeval art, conjured the simple- 
minded writer, let something be done to save a building which, 
injured and battered in the Civil Wars, was now to be made a 
complete ruin by the freaks of an irresponsible owner. 

Her sending him the paper seemed to imply that she re- 


A LAODICEAN. 


96 

quired his opinion on the case ; and in the afternoon, leaving 
Dare to measure up a wing according to directions, he went 
out in the hope of meeting her, having learnt that she had gone 
to the village. On reaching the church he saw her crossing 
the churchyard path with her aunt and Miss De Stancy. 
Somerset entered the enclosure, and as soon as she saw him 
she came across. 

“ What is to be done ? ” she asked. 

“ You need not be concerned about such a letter as that.” 

“ I am concerned.” 

“ I think it dreadful impertinence,” spoke up Charlotte, 
who had joined them. “Can you think who wrote it, Mr. 
Somerset ? ” 

Somerset could not 

“Well, what am I to do?” repeated Paula. 

“Just as you would have done before.” 

“ That’s what I say,” observed Mrs. Goodman emphatically. 

“ But I have already altered — I have given up the Greek 
court” 

“ Oh — you had seen the paper this morning before you 
looked at my drawing ? ” 

“ I had,” she answered. 

Somerset thought it a forcible illustration of her natural 
reticence that she should have abandoned the design without 
telling him the reason ; but he was glad she had not done it 
from mere caprice. 

She turned to him and said quietly, “ I wish you would 
answer that letter.” 

“ It would be ill-advised,” said Somerset. “ Still, if, after 
consideration, you wish it much, I will. Meanwhile let me 
impress upon you again the expediency of calling in Mr. Havill 
— to whom, as your father’s architect, expecting this commission, 
something perhaps is owed — and getting him to furnish an 
alternative plan to mine, and submitting the choice of designs 
to some members of the Royal Institute of British Architects. 
This letter makes it still more advisable than before.” 

“ Very well,” said Paula reluctantly. 

“ Let him have all the particulars you have been good enough 
to explain to me — so that we start fair in the competition.” 

She looked negligently on the grass. “ I will tell the build- 
ing steward to write them out for him,” she said. 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


97 


The party separated and entered the church by different 
doors. Somerset went to a nook of the building that he had 
often intended to visit. It was called the Stancy aisle ; and in 
it stood the tombs of that family. Somerset examined them : 
they were unusually rich and numerous, beginning with cross- 
legged knights in hauberks of chain-mail, their ladies beside 
them in wimple and cover-chief, all more or less coated with 
the green mould and dirt of ages : and continuing with others 
of later date, in fine alabaster, gilded and coloured, some of 
them wearing round their necks the Yorkist collar of suns and 
roses, the livery of Edward the Fourth. In scrutinising the 
tallest canopy over these he beheld Paula behind it, as if in 1 
contemplation of the same objects. 

“You came to the church to sketch these monuments, I 
suppose, Mr. Somerset ? ” she asked as soon as she saw him. 

“No. I came to speak to you about the letter.” 

She sighed. “ Yes : that letter,” she said. “ I am perse- 
cuted ! If I had been one of these it would never have been 
written.” She tapped the alabaster effigy of a recumbent lady 
with her parasol. 

“They are interesting, are they not?”, he said. “ She is 
beautifully preserved. The gilding is nearly gone, but beyond 
that she is perfect.” 

“ She is like Charlotte,” said Paula. And what was much 
like another sigh escaped her lips. 

Somerset admitted that there was a resemblance, while Paula 
drew her forefinger across the marble face of the effigy, and at 
length took out her handkerchief, and began wiping the dust 
from the hollows of the features. He looked on, wondering 
what her sigh had meant, but guessing that it had been some- 
how caused by the sight of these sculptures in connection with 
the newspaper writer’s denunciation of her as an irresponsible 
outsider. 

The secret was out when in answer to his question, idly put, 
if she wished she were like one of these, she said, with ex- 
ceptional vehemence for one of her demeanour : 

“ I don’t wish I was like one of them: I wish I was one ot 
them.” 

“ What — you wish you were a De Stancy ? ” 

“ Yes. It is very dreadful to be denounced as a barbarian. 
I want to be romantic and historical.” 

n 


98 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Miss De Stancy seems not to value the privilege,” he said, 
looking round at another part of the church where Charlotte was 
innocently prattling to Mrs. Goodman, quite heedless of the 
tombs of her forefathers. 

“ If I were one,” she continued, “ I should come here when 
I feel alone in the world, as I do to-day ; and I would defy 
people, and say, ‘ You cannot spoil what has been ! ’ ” 

They walked on till they reached the old black pew attached 
to the castle — a vast square enclosure of oak panelling occupy- 
ing half the aisle, and surmounted with a little balustrade above 
the framework. Within, the baize lining that had once been 
•green, now faded to the colour of a common in August, was 
torn, kicked and scraped to rags by the feet and hands of the 
ploughboys who had appropriated the pew as their own special 
place of worship since it had ceased to be used by any resident 
at the castle, because its height afforded convenient shelter for 
playing at marbles and pricking with pins. 

Charlotte and Mrs. Goodman had by this time left the 
building, and could be seen looking at the headstones out- 
side. 

“ If you were a De Stancy,” said Somerset, who had pondered 
more deeply upon that new wish of hers than he had seemed to 
do, “ you would be a churchwoman, and sit here.” 

“ And I should have the pew done up,” she said readily, as 
she rested her pretty chin on the top rail and looked at the 
interior, her cheeks pressed into deep dimples. Her quick 
reply told him that the idea was no new one with her, and 
he thought of poor Mr. Woodwell’s shrewd prophecy as he 
perceived that her days as a separatist were numbered. 

“Well, why can’t you have it done up, and sit here?” he 
said warily. 

Paula shook her head. 

“ You are not at enmity with Anglicanism, I am sure ?” 

“ I want not to be. I want to be — what ” 

“ What the De Stancys were, and are,” he said insidiously ; 
and her silenced bearing told him that he had hit the nail. 

It was a strange idea to get possession of such a nature as 
hers, and for a minute he felt himself on the side of the minister. 
So strong was Somerset’s feeling of wishing her to show the 
quality of fidelity to paternal dogma and party, that he could 
not help ndding : 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


99 


“ But have you forgotten that other nobility — the nobility of 
talent and enterprise ? ” 

“ No. But 1 wish I had a well-known line of ancestors.” 

“You have. Archimedes, Newcomen, Watt, Telford, 
Stephenson, those are your father’s direct ancestors. Have you 
forgotten them? Have you forgotten your father, and the rail- 
ways he made over half Europe, and his great energy and skill, 
and all connected with him as if he had never lived ? ” 

She did not answer for some time. “No, I have not for- 
gotten it,” she said, still looking into the pew. “But I have a 
predilection d' artiste for ancestors of the other sort, like the De 
Stancys.” 

Her hand was resting on the low pew next the high one of 
the De Stancys. Somerset looked at the hand, or jrather at the 
glove which covered it, then at her averted cheek, then beyond 
it into the pew, then at her hand again, until by an indescribable 
consciousness that he was not going too far he laid his own 
upon it. 

“ No, no,” said Paula quickly, withdrawing her hand. But 
there was nothing resentful or haughty in her tone — nothing, in 
short, which makes a man in such circumstances feel that he has 
done a particularly foolish action. 

The flower on her bosom rose and fell somewhat more than 
usual as she added, “ I am going away now — I will leave you 
here.” Without waiting for a reply she adroitly swept back her 
skirts to free her feet and went out of the church blushing. 

Somerset took her hint and did not follow ; and when he 
knew that she had rejoined her friends, and heard the carriage 
roll away, he made towards the opposite door. Pausing to 
glance once more at the alabaster effigies before leaving them 
to their silence and neglect, he beheld Dare bending over them, 
to all appearance intently occupied. 

He must have been in the church some time — certainly 
during the tender episode between Somerset and Paula, and 
could not have failed to perceive it. Somerset blushed : it was 
unpleasant that Dare should have seen the interior of his heart 
so plainly. He went across and said, “ I think I left you to 
finish the drawing of the north wing, Mr. Dare ? ” 

“ Three hours ago, sir,” said Dare. “ Having finished that, 
I came to look at the church— fine building — fine monuments 
—two interesting people looking at them.” 


H 2 


IOO 


A LAODICEAN. 


“What?” 

“ I stand corrected. Pensa molto , parla poco , as the Italians 

have it.” 

“ Well, now, Mr. Dare, suppose you get back to the castle ? 5f 

“ Which history dubs Castle Stancy. . . . Certainly.” 

“ How do you get on with the measuring ? ” 

Dare sighed whimsically. “ Badly in the morning, when I 
have been tempted to indulge overnight, and worse in the 
afternoon when I have been tempted in the morning ! ” 

Somerset looked at the youth, and said, “ I fear I shall have 
to dispense with your services, Dare, for I think you have been 
tempted to-day.” 

“ On my honour no. My manner is a little against me, Mr. 
Somerset. But you need not fear for my ability to do your 
work. I am a young man wasted, and am thought of slight 
account : it is the true men who get snubbed, while traitors 
are allowed to thrive ! ” 

“ Hang sentiment, Dare, and off with you ! ” A little ruffled, 
Somerset had turned his back upon the interesting speaker, so 
that he did not observe the sly twist Dare threw into his right 
eye as he spoke. The latter went off in one direction and 
Somerset in the other, pursuing his pensive way towards Markton 
with thoughts not difficult to divine. 

From one point in her nature he went to another, till he again 
recurred to her romantic interest in the De Stancy family. To 
wish she was one of them : how very inconsistent of her. That 
she really did wish it was unquestionable ; for the feeling had 
been so strong as to break through her natural silentness. 


CHAPTER XV. 

It was the day of the garden-party. The weather was too cloudy 
to be called perfect, but it was as sultry as the most thinly-clad 
young lady could desire. Great trouble had been taken by 
Paula to bring the lawn to a fit condition after the neglect of 
recent years, and Somerset had suggested the design for the 
tents. As he approached the precincts of the castle he dis- 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


IOI 


cemed a flag of newest fabric floating over the keep, and soon 
his phaeton fell in with the stream of carriages that were passing 
over the bridge into the outer ward. 

Mrs. Goodman and Paula were receiving the. people in the 
drawing-room. Somerset came forward in his turn ; but as he 
was immediately followed by others there was not much oppor- 
tunity, even had she felt the wish, for any special mark of 
feeling in the younger lady’s greeting of him. 

He went on through a canvas passage, lined on each side 
with flowering plants, till he reached the tents ; thence, after 
nodding to one or two guests slightly known to him, he pro- 
ceeded to the grounds, with a sense of being rather lonely. 
Few visitors had as yet got so far in, and as he walked up and 
down a shady alley his mind dwelt upon the new aspect under 
whicn Paula had greeted his eyes that afternoon. Her black- 
and-white costume had finally disappeared, and in its place she 
had adopted a picturesque dress of ivory white, with satin en- 
richments of the same hue ; while upon her bosom she wore a 
blue flower. Her days of infestivity were plainly ended, and 
her days of gladness were to begin. 

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of his name, and 
looking round he beheld Havill, who appeared to be as much 
alone as himself. 

Somerset already knew that Havill had been appointed to 
compete with him, according to his recommendation. In 
measuring a dark corner a day or two before, he had stumbled 
upon Havill engaged in the same pursuit with a view to the 
rival design. Afterwards he had seen him receiving Paula’s 
instructions precisely as he had done himself. It was as he 
had wished, for fairness’ sake : and yet he felt a regret, for he 
was less Paula’s own architect now. 

“ Well, Mr. Somerset,” said Havill, “ since we first met an 
unexpected rivalry has arisen between us ! But I dare say we 
shall survive the contest, as it is not one arising out of love. 
Ha-ha-ha ! ” He spoke in a level voice of fierce pleasantry, 
and uncovered his regular white teeth. 

Somerset supposed him to allude to the castle compe- 
tition ? 

“Yes,” said Havill. “Her proposed undertaking brought 
out some adverse criticism till it was known that she intended 
to have more than one architectural opinion. An excellent 


102 


A LAODICEAN. 


stroke of hers to disarm criticism. You saw the second letter 
in the morning papers ? ” 

“ No,” said the other. 

“ The writer states that he has discovered that the competent 
advice of two architects is to be taken, and withdraws his 
accusations.” 

Somserset said nothing for a minute. “ Have you been 
supplied with the necessary data for your drawings?” he asked, 
showing by the question the track his thoughts had taken. 

Havill said that he had. “ But possibly not so completely as 
you have,” he added, again smiling fiercely. Somerset did not 
quite like the insinuation, and the two speakers parted, the 
younger going towards the musicians, who had now begun to 
fill the air with their strains from the embowered enclosure of 
a drooping ash. When he got back to the marquees they were 
quite crowded, and the guests began to pour out upon the 
grass, the toilets of the ladies presenting a brilliant spectacle — 
here being coloured dresses with white devices, there white 
dresses with coloured devices, and yonder transparent dresses 
with no device at all. A lavender haze hung in the air, the 
trees were as still as those of a submarine forest ; while the sun, in 
colour like a brass plaque, had a hairy outline in the livid sky. 

After watching awhile some young people who were so 
madly devoted to lawn-tennis that they set about it like day- 
labourers at the moment of their arrival, he turned and saw 
approaching a graceful figure in cream-coloured hues, whose 
gloves lost themselves beneath her lace ruffles, even when she 
lifted her hand to make firm the blue flower at her breast, and 
whose hair hung under her hat in great knots so well compacted 
that the sun gilded the convexity of each knot like a ball. 

“ You seem to be alone,” said Paula, who had at last escaped 
from the duty of receiving guests. 

“ I don’t know many people.” 

“Yes: I thought of that while I was in the drawing-room. 
But I could not get out before. I am now no longer a re- 
sponsible being : Mrs. Goodman is mistress for the remainder 
of the day. Will you be introduced to anybody? Whom 
would you like to know ? ” 

“ I am not particularly unhappy in my solitude.” 

u But you must be made to know a few.’ 

“ Very well — I submit readily.” 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


103 


She looked away from him, and while he was observing upon 
her cheek the moving shadow of leaves cast by the declining 
sun, she said, “ Oh, there is my aunt,” and beckoned with her 
parasol to that lady, who approached in the comparatively 
youthful guise of a grey silk dress that whistled at every 
touch. 

Paula left them together, and Mrs. Goodman then made him 
acquainted with a few of the best people, describing what they 
were in a whisper before they came up, among them being the 
Radical member for Markton, who had succeeded to the seat 
rendered vacant by the death of Paula’s father. While talking 
to this gentleman on the proposed enlargement of the castle, 
Somerset raised his eyes and hand towards the walls, the better 
to point out his meaning ; in so doing he saw a face in the 
square of darkness formed by one of the open windows, the 
effect being that of a high-light portrait by Vandyck or 
Rembrandt 

It was his assistant Dare, leaning on the window-sill of the 
studio, as he smoked his cigarette and surveyed the gay groups 
promenading beneath. 

After holding a chattering conversation with some ladies 
from a neighbouring country seat who had known his father in 
bygone years, and handing them ices and strawberries till they 
were satisfied, he found an opportunity of leaving the grounds, 
wishing to learn what progress Dare had made in the survey of 
the castle. 

Dare was still in the studio when he entered. Somerset 
informed the youth that there was no necessity for his working 
later that day, unless to please himself, and proceeded to inspect 
Dare’s achievements thus far. To his vexation Dare had not 
plotted three dimensions during the previous two days. This 
was not the first time that Dare, either from incompetence or 
indolence, had shown his inutility as a house-surveyor and 
draughtsman. 

“ Mr. Dare,” said Somerset, “ I fear you don’t suit me well 
enough to make it necessary that you should stay after this 
week.” 

Dare removed the cigarette from his lips and bowed. “ If 
I don’t suit, the sooner I go the better ; why wait the week ? ” 
he said. 

“ Well, that’s as you like.” 


104 


A LAODICEAN. 


Somerset drew the inkstand towards him, wrote out a cheque 
for Dare’s services, and handed it across the table. 

“ I’ll not trouble you to-morrow,” said Dare, seeing that the 
payment included the week in advance. 

“ Very well,” replied Somerset. “ Please lock the door when 
you leave.” Shaking hands with Dare and wishing him well, he 
left the room and descended to the lawn below. 

There he contrived to get near Miss Power again, and in- 
quired of her for Miss De Stancy. 

“ Oh ! did you not know ? ” said Paula ; “ her father is un- 
well, and she preferred staying with him this afternoon.” 

“ I hoped he might have been here.” 

“ Oh no ; he never comes out of his house to any party of 
this sort ; it excites him, and he must not be excited.” 

“ Poor Sir William ! ” muttered Somerset. 

“ No,” said Paula, “he is grand and historical.” 

“That is hardly an orthodox notion for a Puritan,” said 
Somerset mischievously. 

“ I am not a Puritan,” insisted Paula. 

The day turned to dusk, and the guests began going in relays 
to the dining-hall. When Somerset had taken in two or three 
ladies to whom he had been presented, and attended to their 
wants, which occupied him three-quarters of an hour, he 
returned again to the large tent, with a view to finding Paula 
and taking his leave. It was now brilliantly lighted up, and the 
musicians, who during daylight had been invisible behind the 
ash-tree, were ensconced at one end with their harps and violins. 
It reminded him that there was to be dancing. The tent had 
in the mean time half filled with a new set of young people 
who had come expressly for that pastime. Behind the girls 
gathered numbers of newly arrived young men with low 
shoulders and diminutive moustaches, who were evidently pre- 
pared for once to sacrifice themselves as partners. 

Somerset felt something of a thrill at the sight. He was an 
infrequent dancer, and particularly unprepared for dancing at 
present ; but to dance once with Paula Power he would give a 
year of his life. He looked round ; but she was nowhere to be 
seen. The first set began; old and middle-aged people 
gathered from the different rooms to look on at the gyrations 
of their children, but Paula did not appear. When another 
dance or two had progressed, and an increase in the average 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 


105 


age of the dancers was making itself perceptible, especially on 
the masculine side, Somerset was aroused by a whisper at his 
elbow : 

“You dance, I think? Miss Deverell is disengaged. She 
has not been asked once this evening.” The speaker was 
Paula. 

Somerset looked at Miss Deverell — a sallow lady with black 
twinkling eyes, yellow costume, and gay laugh, who had been 
there all the afternoon — and said something about having 
thought of going home. 

“ Is that because I asked you to dance ? ” she murmured. 
“There — she is appropriated.” A young gentleman had at 
that moment approached the uninviting Miss Deverell, claimed 
her hand and led her off. 

“ That’s right,” said Somerset. “ I ought to leave room for 
younger men.” 

“ You need not say so. That bald-headed gentleman is 
forty-five. He does not think of younger men.” 

“.Have you a dance to spare for me ? ” 

Her face grew stealthily redder in the candle-light “ Oh ! — 
I have no engagement at all — I have refused. I hardly feel at 
liberty to dance; it would be as well to leave that to my 
visitors.” 

“ Why?” 

“ My father, though he allowed me to be taught, never liked 
the idea of my dancing.” 

“ Did he make you promise anything on the point ? ” 

“ He said he was not in favour of such amusements — no 
more.” 

“ I think you are not bound by that, on an informal occa- 
sion like the present.” 

She was silent. 

“ You will just once ?” said he. 

Another silence. “ If you like,” she venturesomely answered 
at last. 

Somerset closed the hand which was hanging by his side, 
and somehow hers was in it. The dance was nearly formed, 
and he led her forward. Several persons looked at them 
significantly, but he did not notice it then, and plunged into 
the maze. 

Never had Mr. Somerset passed through such an experience 


A LAO DICE AM. 


106 

before. Had he not felt her actual weight and warmth, he 
might have fancied the whole episode a figment of the imagi- 
nation. It seemed as if those musicians had thrown a double 
sweetness into their notes on seeing the mistress of the castle 
in the dance, that a perfumed southern atmosphere had begun 
to pervade the marquee, and that human beings were shaking 
themselves free of all inconvenient gravitation. 

Somerset’s feelings burst from his lips. “ This is the hap- 
piest moment I have ever known,” he said. “ Do you know 
why ? ” 

“ I think I saw a flash of lightning through the opening of 
the tent,” said Paula, with roguish abruptness. 

He did not press for an answer. Within a few minutes a 
long growl of thunder was heard. It was as if Jove could not 
refrain from testifying his jealousy of Somerset for taking this 
covetable woman so presumptuously in his arms. 

The dance was over, and he had retired with Paula to the 
back of the tent, when another faint flash of lightning was 
visible through an opening. She lifted the canvas, and looked 
out, Somerset looking out behind her. Another dance was 
begun, and being on this account left out of notice, Somerset 
did not hasten to leave Paula’s side. 

“ I think they begin to feel the heat,” she said. 

“A little ventilation would do no harm.” He flung back 
the tent door where he stood, and the light shone out upon 
the grass. 

“ I must go to the drawing-room soon,” she added. “ They 
will begin to leave shortly.” 

“ It is not late. The thunder-cloud has made it seem dark 
— see there ; a line of pale yellow stretches along the horizon 
from west to north. That’s evening — not gone yet Shall we 
go into the fresh air for a minute ? ” 

She seemed to signify assent, and he stepped off the tent- 
floor upon the ground. She stepped off also. 

The air out-of-doors had not cooled, and without definitely 
choosing a direction they found themselves approaching a little 
wooden tea-house that stood on the lawn a few yards off. 
Arrived here, they turned, and regarded the tent they had 
just left, and listened to the strains that came from within it 

“ I feel more at ease now,” said Paula. 

“ So do I,” said Somerset. 


GEORGE SOMERSET 


107 


“ I mean,” she added in an undeceiving tone, “ because 
I saw Mrs. Goodman enter the tent again just as we came out 
here ; so I have no further responsibility.” 

“ I meant something quite different. Try to guess what.” 

She teasingly demurred, finally breaking the silence by 
saying, “ The rain is come at last,” as great drops began to 
fall upon the ground with a smack, like pellets of clay. 

In a moment the storm poured down with sudden violence, 
and they drew farther back into the summer-house. The side 
of the tent from which they had emerged still remained open, 
the rain streaming down between their eyes and the lighted 
interior of the marquee like a tissue of glass threads, the 
brilliant forms of the dancers passing and repassing behind 
the watery screen, as if they were people in an enchanted 
. submarine palace. 

“ How happy they are ! ” said Paula. “ They don’t even 
know that it is raining. I am so glad that my aunt had the 
tent lined ; otherwise such a downpour would have gone clean 
through it.” 

The thunder-storm showed no symptoms of abatement, 
and the music and dancing went on more merrily than 
ever. 

“ We cannot go in,” said Somerset. “ And we cannot shout 
for umbrellas. We will stay till it is over, will we not ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ if you care to. Ah ! ” 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Only a big drop came upon my head.” 

“ Let us stand farther in.” 

Her hand was hanging by her side, and Somerset’s was 
close by. He took it, and she did not draw it away. Thus 
they stood a long whiles the rain hissing down upon the grass- 
plot, and not a soul being visible outside the dancing-tent 
save themselves. 

“ May I call you Paula ? ” asked he. 

“ Yes, occasionally,” she murmured. 

“ Dear Paula ! — may I call you that ? ” 

“ Oh no — not yet.” 

“ But you know I love you ? ” he insisted. 

“ Yes,” she whispered. 

“ And shall I love you always ? ” 


io8 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ And will you love me ? ” 

Paula did not reply. 

“ Will you, Paula ? ” he repeated. 

“ You may love me.” 

“ But don’t you love me in return ? ” 

“ I love you to love me.” 

“ Won’t you say anything more explicit ? ” 

“ I would rather not.” 

Somerset emitted half a sigh : he wished she had been 
more demonstrative, yet felt that this passive way of assenting 
was as much as he could hope for. Had there been anything 
cold in her passivity he might have felt repressed; but her 
stillness suggested the stillness of motion imperceptible from its 
intensity. 

“ We must go in,” said she. “ The rain is almost over, 
and there is no longer any excuse for this.” 

Somerset bent his lips toward hers. 

“ No,” said the fair Puritan decisively, 

“ Why not ? ” he asked. 

“ Nobody ever has.” 

“ But ! ” expostulated Somerset 

“ To everything there is a season, and the season for this 
is not just now,” she answered, walking away. 

They crossed the wet and glistening lawn, stepped under 
the tent and parted. She vanished, he did not know whither ; 
and, standing with his gaze fixed on the dancers, the young man 
waited, till, being in no mood to join them, he went slowly 
through the artificial passage lined with flowers, and entered 
the drawing-room. Mrs. Goodman was there, bidding 
good-night to the early goers, and Paula was just behind her, 
apparently in her usual mood. His parting with her was quite 
formal, but that he did not mind, for her colour rose decidedly 
higher as he approached, and the light in her eyes was like the 
ray of a diamond. 

When he reached the door he found that his brougham from 
the King’s Arms, which had been waiting more than an hour, 
could not be heard of. That vagrancy of spirit which love 
induces would not permit him to wait ; and, leaving word that 
the man was to follow him when he returned, he went past the 
glare of carriage-lamps ranked in the ward, and under the outer 
arch. The night was now clear and beautiful, and he strolled 


GEORGE SOMERSET. 109 

along his way full of mysterious elation till the vehicle over- 
took him, and he got in. 

Up to this point Somerset’s progress in his suit had been, 
though incomplete, so uninterrupted, that he almost feared the 
good chance he enjoyed. How should it be in a mortal of his 
calibre to command success with such a sweet woman for 
long ? He might, indeed, turn out to be one of the singular 
exceptions which are said to prove rules ; but when fortune 
means to men most good, observes the bard, she looks upon 
them with a threatening eye. Somerset would even have been 
content that a little disapproval of his course should have 
occurred in some quarter, so as to make his wooing more like 
ordinary life. But Paula was not clearly won, and that was 
drawback sufficient. In these phenomenal agonies and ques- 
tionable delights he passed the journey to Markton. 


IIO 


A LAODICEAN. 


BOOK THE SECOND. 

DARE AND HAV1LL. 


CHAPTER I. 

Young Dare sat thoughtfully at the window of the studio in 
which Somerset had left him, till the gay scene beneath became 
embrowned by the twilight, and the brilliant red stripes of the 
marquees, the bright sunshades, the many-tinted costumes of 
the ladies, were indistinguishable from the blacks and greys of 
the masculine contingent moving among them. He had occa- 
sionally glanced away from the outward prospect to study a 
small old volume that lay before him on the drawing-board. 
Near scrutiny revealed the book to bear the title ‘ Moivre’s 
Doctrine of Chances.’ 

The evening had been so still that Dare had heard conver- 
sations from below with a clearness unsuspected by the speakers 
themselves ; and among the dialogues which thus reached his 
ears was that between Somerset and Havill on their professional 
rivalry. When they parted, and Somerset had mingled with 
the throng, Havill went to a seat at a distance. Afterwards he 
rose, and walked away ; but on the bench he had quitted there 
remained a small object resembling a book or leather case. 

Dare put away the drawing-board and plotting-scales which 
he had kept before him during the evening as a reason for his 
presence at that post of espial, locked up the door, and went 
downstairs. Notwithstanding his dismissal by Somerset, he 
was so serene in countenance and easy in gait as to make it a 
fair conjecture that professional servitude, however profitable, 
was no necessity with him. The gloom now rendered it prac- 
ticable for any unbidden guest to join Paula’s assemblage 
without criticism, and Dare walked boldly out upon the lawn. 
The crowd on the grass was rapidly diminishing ; the tennis- 
players had relinquished sport ; many people had gone in to 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


in 


dinner or supper ; and many others, attracted by the cneerful 
radiance of the candles, were gathering in the large tent that 
had been lighted up for dancing. 

Dare went to the garden-chair on which Havill had been 
seated, and found the article left behind to be a pocket-book. 
Whether because it was unclasped and fell open in his hand, 
or whether foi any other reason, he did not hesitate to examine 
the contents. Among a mass of architect’s customary memo- 
randa occurred a draft of the letter abusing Paula as an 
iconoclast or Vandal by blood, which had appeared in the 
newspaper : the draft was so interlined and altered as to bear 
evidence of being the original conception of that ungentlemanly 
attack. 

The lad read the letter, smiled, and strolled . about the 
grounds, only met by an occasional pair of individuals of 
opposite sex in deep conversation, the state of whose emotions 
led them to prefer the evening shade to the publicity and glare 
ot the tents and rooms. At last he observed the white waist- 
coat of the man he sought. 

“ Mr. Havill, the architect, I believe ? ” said Dare. “ The 
author of most of the noteworthy buildings in this neighbour- 
hood?" 

Havill assented blandly. 

“ I have long wished for the pleasure of your acquaintance, 
and now an accident helps me to make it This pocket-book, 
I think, is yours ? ” 

Havill clapped his hand to his pocket, examined the book 
Dare held out to him, and took it with thanks. “ I see I am 
speaking to the artist, archaeologist, Gothic photographer — Mr. 
Dare." 

‘ Professor Dare.” 

“ Professor ? Pardon me, I should not have guessed it — so 
young as you are ” 

“ Well, it is merely ornamental ; and in truth, I drop the 
title in England, particularly under present circumstances.” 

“ Ah — they are peculiar, perhaps ? Ah, I remember. I 
have heard that you are assisting a gentleman in preparing a 
design in opposition to mine — a design ” 

“ ‘ That he is not competent to prepare himself/ you were 
perhaps going to add ? ” 

“ Not precisely that.” 


1 12 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ You could hardly be blamed for such words. However, 
you are mistaken. I did assist him to gain a little further 
insight into the working of architectural plans ; but our views 
on art are antagonistic, and I assist him no more. Mr. Havill, 
it must be very provoking to a well-established professional 
man to have a rival sprung at him in a grand undertaking 
which he had a right to expect as his own.” 

Professional sympathy is often accepted from those whose 
condolence on any domestic matter would be considered 
intrusive. Havill walked up and down beside Dare for a few 
moments in silence, and at last showed that the words had 
told, by saying : “ Every one may have his opinion. Had I 
been a stranger to the Power family, the case would have been 
different ; but having been specially elected by the lady’s father 
as a competent adviser in such matters, and then to be de- 
graded to the position of a mere competitor, it wounds me to 
the quick ” 

“ Both in purse and in person, like the ill-used hostess of the 
Garter.” 

“ A lady to whom I have been a staunch friend,” continued 
Havill, not heeding the interruption. 

At that moment sounds seemed to come from Dare which 
bore a remarkable resemblance to the words, “ Ho, ho, 
Havill ! ” It was hardly credible, and yet, could he be mis- 
taken? Havill turned. Dare’s eye was twisted comically 
upward. 

“ What does that mean ? ” said Havill coldly, and with some 
amazement. 

“ Ho, ho, Havill ! * Staunch friend ’ is good — especially 
after ‘ an iconoclast and Vandal by blood ’ — ‘ monstrosity in 
the form of a Greek temple,’ and so on, eh ! ” 

“ Sir, you have the advantage of me. Perhaps you allude to 
that anonymous letter ? ” 

“O — ho, Havill!” repeated the boy-man, turning his eyes 
yet farther towards the zenith. “ To an outsider such conduct 
would be natural ; but to a friend who finds your pocket-book, 
and looks into it before returning it, and kindly removes a leaf 
bearing the draft of a letter which might injure you if discovered 
there, and carefully conceals it in his own pocket — why, such 
conduct is unkind ! ” Dare held up the abstracted leaf 

Havill trembled. “ I can explain,” he began. 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


H3 

“ It is not necessary : we are friends,” said Dare assuringly. 

Havill looked as if he would like to snatch the leaf away, but 
altering his mind, he said, grimly : “ Well, I take you at your 
word : we are friends. That letter was concocted before I knew 
of the competition : it was during my first disgust, when I be- 
lieved myself entirely supplanted.” 

“ I am not in the least surprised. But if she knew to be 
the writer ! ” 

“ I should be ruined as far as this competition is concerned,” 
said Havill carelessly. “ Had I known I was to be invited to 
compete, I should not have written it, of course. To be sup- 
planted is hard ; and thereby hangs a tale.” 

“ Another tale ? you astonish me,” 

“ Then you have not heard the scandal, though everybody is 
talking about it.” 

“ A scandal implies indecorum.” 

“ Well, ’tis indecorous. Her infatuated partiality for him is 
patent to the eyes of a child ; a man she has only known a few 
weeks, and one who obtained admission to her house in the 
most irregular manner ! Had she a watchful friend beside her, 
instead of that moonstruck Mrs. Goodman, she would be 
cautioned against bestowing her favours on the first adventurer 
who appears at her door. It is a pity, a great pity ! ” 

“ Oh, there is love-making in the wind ? ” said Dare slowly, 
u That alters the case for me. But it is not proved ? ” 

“ It can easily be proved.” 

“ I wish it were, or disproved.” 

“ You have only to come this way to clear' up all doubts.” 

Havill took the lad towards the tent, from which the strains 
of a waltz now proceeded, and on whose sides flitting shadows 
told of the progress of the dance. The companions looked in. 
The rosy silk lining of the marquee, and the numerous coronas 
of wax lights, formed a canopy to a radiant scene which, in 
two at least of those who composed it, was an intoxicating one. 
Paula and Somerset were dancing together. 

“ That proves nothing,” said Dare. 

“ Look at their rapt faces, and say if it does not,” sneered 
Havill. 

Dare objected to a judgment based on looks alone. 

‘ Very well — time will show,” said the architect, dropping 
the tent-curtain. . . . Good God ! a girl worth fifty thousand 

1 


A LA ODICEAA. 


1 14 

and more a year to throw herself away upon a fellow like that 
— she ought to be whipped.” 

“ Time must not show ! ” said Dare. 

“ You speak with emphasis.” 

“ I have reason. I would give something to be sure on this 
point, one way or the other. Let us wait till the dance is over, 
and observe them more carefully. Horensagen ist halb gelogen ! 
Hearsay is half lies.” 

Sheet-lightnings increased in the northern sky, followed by 
thunder like the indistinct noise of a battle. Havill and Dare 
retired to the trees. When the dance ended Somerset and his 
partner emerged from the tent, and slowly moved towards the 
tea-house. Divining their goal Dare seized Havill’s arm ; and 
the two worthies entered the building unseen, by first passing 
round behind it. They seated themselves in the back part of 
the interior, where darkness prevailed. 

As before related, Paula and Somerset came and stood 
within the door. When the rain increased they drew them- 
selves further inward, their forms being distinctly outlined to 
the gaze of those lurking behind by the light from the tent 
beyond. But the hiss of the falling rain and the lowness of 
their tones prevented their words from being heard. 

“ I wish myself out of this ! ” breathed Havill to Dare as he 
buttoned his coat over his white waistcoat. “ I told you it was 
true, but you wouldn’t believe. I wouldn’t she should catch me 
here eavesdropping for the world ! ” 

“ Courage, Man Friday,” said his cooler comrade. 

Paula and her lover backed yet further, till the hem of her 
skirt touched Havill’s feet. Their attitudes were sufficient to 
prove their relations to the most obstinate Didymus who 
should have witnessed them. Tender emotions seemed to 
pervade the summer-house like an aroma. The calm ecstasy 
of the condition of at least one of them was not without a coercive 
effect upon the two invidious spectators, so that they must 
need have remained passive had they come there to disturb or 
annoy. The serenity of Paula was even more impressive than 
the hushed ardour of Somerset : she did not satisfy curiosity 
as Somerset satisfied it ; she piqued it. Poor Somerset had 
reached a perfectly intelligible depth — one which had a single 
blissful way out of it, and nine calamitous ones; but Paula 
remained an enigma all through the scene. 


DARE AND HAVILL. 


”5 


The rain ceased, and the pair moved away. The enchant- 
ment worked by their presence vanished, the details of the 
meeting settled down in the watchers’ minds, and their tongues 
were loosened. Dare, turning to Havill, said, “ Thank you ; 
you have done me a timely turn to-day.” 

“ What ! had you hopes that way ? ” asked Havill satirically. 

“ 1 1 The woman that interests my heart has yet to be 
bom,” said Dare, with a steely coldness strange in such a 
juvenile, and yet almost convincing. “ But though I have not 
personal hopes, I have an objection to this courtship. Now 
I think we may as well fraternise, the situation being what 
it is?” 

“ What is the situation ? ” 

“ He is in your way as her architect ; he is in my way as her 
lover : we don’t want to hurt him, but we wish him clean out 
of the neighbourhood.” 

“ I’ll go as far as that,” said Havill. 

“ I have come here at some trouble to myself, merely to 
observe : I find I ought to stay to act.” 

“ If you were myself, a married man with people dependent 
on him, who has had a professional certainty turned to a 
miserably remote contingency by these events, you might say 
you ought to act ; but what conceivable difference it can make 
to you who it is the young lady takes to her heart and home, I 
fail to understand.” 

“ Well, I’ll tell you — thus much at least. I want to keep the 
place vacant for another man.” 

“ The place ? ” 

“ The place of husband to Miss Power, and proprietor of 
that castle and domain.” 

“ That’s a scheme with a vengeance. Who is the man ? ” 

“ It is my secret at present” 

“ Certainly.” Havill drew a deep breath, and dropped into 
a tone of depression. “ Well, scheme as you will, there will be 
small advantage to me,” he murmured. “ The castle com- 
mission is as good as gone, and a bill for two hundred pounds 
falls due next week.” 

“ Cheer up, heart ! My position, if you only knew it, has 
ten times the difficulties of yours, since this disagreeable dis- 
covery. Let us consider if we can assist each other. The 
competition drawings are to be sent in — when ? ’ 

I 9 


n6 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ In something over six weeks — a fortnight before she re- 
turns from Brighton, for which place she leaves here in a few 
days.” 

“ Oh, she goes away — that’s better. Our lover will be 
working here at his drawings, and she not present.” 

“ Exactly. Perhaps she is a little ashamed of the intimacy.” 

“ And if your design is considered best by the committee, he 
will have no further reason for staying, assuming that they are 
not definitely engaged to marry by that time ? ” 

“ I suppose so,” murmured Havill discontentedly. “ The 
conditions, as sent to me, state that the designs are to be adju- 
dicated on by three members of the Institute called in for the 
purpose ; so that she may return, and have seemed to show no 
favour. ” 

“ Then it amounts to this : your design must be best. It 
must combine the excellences of your invention with the excel- 
lences of his. Meanwhile a coolness should be made to arise 
between her and him : and as there would be no artistic 
reason for his presence here after the verdict is pronounced, he 
would perforce hie back to town. Do you see ? ” 

“ I see the ingenuity of the plan, but I also see two insur- 
mountable obstacles to it. The first is, I cannot add the 
excellences of his design to mine without knowing what those 
excellences are, which he will of course keep a secret. Second, 
it will not be easy to promote a coolness between such hot 
ones as they.” 

“ You make a mistake. It is only he who is so ardent She 
is only lukewarm. If we had any spirit, a bargain would be 
strukc between us : you would appropriate his design ; I should 
cause the coolness.” 

*' How could I appropriate his design?” 

“ By copying it, I suppose.” 

“ Copying it ? ” 

“ By going into his studio and looking it over.” 

Havill turned to Dare, and stared. “ By George, you don’t 
stick at trifles, young man You don’t suppose I would go 
into a man’s rooms and steal his inventions like that?” 

“ I scarcely suppose you would,” said Dare indifferently, as 
he rose. 

“ And if I were to,” said Havill curiously, “ how is the cool- 
ness to be caused ? ” 


DARE AND HA VI LL 


I17 


11 By the second man.” 

“ Who is to produce him ? ” 

“ Her Majesty’s Government.” 

Havill looked meditatively at his companion, and shook his 
head. “ In these idle suppositions we have been assuming 
conduct which would be quite against my principles as an 
honest man.” 


CHAPTER II. 

A few days after the party at Stancy Castle Dare was walking 
down the High Street of Markton, a cigarette between his lips 
and a silver-topped cane in his hand. His eye fell upon a 
brass plate on an opposite door, bearing the name of Mr. 
Havill, Architect He crossed over, and rang the office bell. 

The clerk who admitted him stated that Mr. Havill was in 
his private room, and would be disengaged in a short time. 
While Dare waited the clerk affixed to the door a piece of 
paper bearing the words “ Back at 2,” and went away to his 
dinner, leaving Dare in the room alone. 

Dare looked at the different drawings on the boards about 
the room. They all represented one subject, which, though 
unfinished as yet, and bearing no inscription, was recognised 
by the visitor as the design for the enlargement and restoration 
of Stancy Castle. When he had glanced it over Dare sat.down. 

The doors between the office and private room were double ; 
but the one towards the office being only ajar Dare could hear 
a conversation in progress within. It presently rose to an 
altercation, the tenour of which was obvious. Somebody had 
come for money. 

“ Really I can stand it no longer, Mr. Havill — really I will 
not!” said the creditor excitedly. “Now this bill overdue 
again — what can you expect ? Why, I might have negotiated 
it ; and where would you have been then ? Instead of that, I 
have locked it up out of consideration for you ; and what do 
I get for my considerateness ? I shall let the law take its 
course ! ” 

“You’ll do me inexpressible harm, and get nothing what- 


A LAODICEAN. 


118 

ever,” said Havill. “ If you would renew for another three 
months there would be no difficulty in the matter.” 

“ You have said so before : I will do no such thing.” 

There was a silence ; whereupon Dare arose without hesita- 
tion, and walked boldly into the private office. Havill wa* 
standing at one end, as gloomy as a thundercloud, and at the 
other was the unfortunate creditor with his hat on. Though 
Dare’s entry surprised them, both parties seemed relieved. 

“ I have called in passing to congratulate you, Mr. Havill,” 
said Dare gaily. “ Such a commission as has been entrusted 
to you will make you famous ! ” 

“ How do you do ? — I wish it would make me rich,” said 
Havill drily. 

“ It will be a lift in that direction, from what I know of the 
profession. What is she going to spend ? ” 

“ A hundred thousand.” 

“Your commission as architect, five thousand. Not bad, 
for making a few sketches. Consider what other great com- 
missions such a work will lead to.” 

“ What great work is this ? ” asked the creditor, pricking up 
his ears. 

“ Stancy Castle,” said Dare, since Havill seemed too agape 
to answer. “You have not heard of it, then? Those are the 
drawings, I presume, in the next room ? ” 

Havill replied in the affirmative, beginning to perceive the 
manoeuvre. “ Perhaps you would like to see them ? ” he said to 
the creditor. 

The. latter offered no objection, and all three went into the 
drawing-office. 

“ It will certainly be a magnificent structure,” said the 
creditor, after regarding the elevations through his spectacles. 
“ Stancy Castle : I had no idea of it ! and when do you begin 
to build, Mr. Havill? ” he inquired in mollified tones. 

“ In three months, I think ? ” said Dare, looking to Havill 

Havill assented. 

“ Five thousand pounds commission,” murmured the creditor. 
w Paid down, I suppose ? ” 

Havill nodded. 

“ And the works will not linger for lack of money to carry 
them out, I imagine,” said Dare. “ Two hundred thousand 
will probably be spent before the work is finished.” 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


119 

“ There is not much doubt of it,” said Havill. 

“You said nothing to me about this?” whispered the 
creditor to Havill, taking him aside, with a look of regret. 

“ You would not listen ! ” 

“ It alters- the case greatly.” The creditor retired with 
Havill to the door, and after a subdued colloquy in the passage 
he went away, Havill returning to the office. 

“ What the devil do you mean by hoaxing him like this, 
when the job is no more mine than Inigo Jones’s ? ” 

“ Don’t be too curious,” said Dare, laughing. “ Rather 
thank me for getting rid of him.” 

“ But it is all a vision ! ” said Havill, ruefully regarding the 
pencilled towers of Stancy Castle. “ If the competition were 
really the commission that you have represented it to be there 
might be something to laugh at.” 

“ It must be m&de a commission, somehow,” returned Dare 
carelessly. “I am come to lend you a little assistance. I 
must stay in the neighbourhood, and I have nothing else 
to do.” 

A carriage slowly passed the window, and Havill recognised 
the Power liveries. “ Hullo — she’s coming here ! ” he said 
under his breath as the carriage stopped by the kerb. “ What 
does she want, I wonder ? Dare, does she know you ? ” 

“ I would just as soon be out of the way.” 

“ Then go into the garden.” 

Dare went out through the back office as Paula was shown 
in at the front. She wore a grey travelling costume, and seemed 
to be in some haste. 

“ I am on my way to the railway-station,” she said to Havill. 
“ I shall be absent from home for several weeks, and since you 
requested it, 1 have called to inquire how you are getting on 
with the design.” 

“ Please look it over,” said Havill, placing a seat for her. 

“ No,” said Paula. “ I think it would be unfair. I have 

not looked at Mr. the other architect’s plans since he has 

begun to design seriously, and I will not look at yours. Are 
you getting on quite well, and do you want to know anything 
more ? If so, go to the castle, and get anybody to assist you. 
Why would you not make use of the room at your disposal in 
the castle, as the other architect has done ? ” 

In asking the question her face was towards the window, 


120 A LAODICEAN. 

and suddenly her cheeks became a rosy red. She instantly 
looked another way. 

“ Having my own office so near, it was not necessary, thank 
you,” replied Havill, as, noting her countenance, he allowed 
his glance to stray into the street. Somerset was walking past 
on the opposite side. 

“ The time is — the time fixed for sending in the drawings is 
the first of November, I believe,” she said confusedly; “and 
the decision will be come to by three gentlemen who are 
prominent members of the Institute of Architects.” 

Havill then accompanied her to the carriage, and she drove 
away. 

Havill went to the back window to tell Dare that he need 
not stay in the garden ; but the garden was empty. The 
architect remained alone in his office for some time ; at the end 
of a quarter of an hour, when the scream of a railway whistle 
had echoed down the still street, he beheld Somerset repassing 
the window in a direction from the railway, with somewhat 
of a sad gait. In another minute Dare entered, humming 
the latest air from Offenbach. 

“ ’Tis a mere piece of duplicity ! ” said Havill. 

“What is?” 

“ Her pretending indifference as to which of us comes out 
successful in the competition, when she colours carmine the 
moment Somerset passes by.” He described Paula’s visit, and 
the incident 

“ It may not mean Cupid’s Entire XXX after all,” said Dare 
judicially. “ The mere suspicion that a certain man loves her 
would make a girl blush at his unexpected appearance. Well, 
she’s gone from him for a time ; the better for you.” 

“ He has been privileged to see her off at any rate.” 

“ Not privileged.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“ I went out of your garden by the back gate, and followed ' 
her carriage to the railway. He simply went to the first 
bridge outside the station, and waited. When she was in the 
train, it moved forward ; he was all expectation, and drew out 
his handkerchief ready to wave, while she looked out of the 
window towards the bridge. The train backed before it 
reached the bridge, to attach the box containing her horses, 
and the carriage-truck. Then it started for good, and when it 


DARE AND HA VILL. 121 

reached the bridge she looked out again, he waving his hand- 
kerchief to her.” 

“ And she waving hers back?” 

“ No, she didn’t” 

“ Ah ! ” 

“ She looked at him — nothing more. I wouldn’t give much 
for his chance.” After a while Dare added musingly : “ You 
are a mathematician : did you ever investigate the doctrine of 
expectations ? ” 

“ Never.” 

Dare drew from his pocket his ‘ Book of Chances,’ a volume 
as well thumbed as the minister’s Bible. “ This is a treatise 
on the subject,” he said. “ I will teach it to you some day.” 

The same evening Havill asked Dare to dine with him. He 
was just at this time living en garfon, his wife and children being 
away on a visit. After dinner they sat on till their faces were 
rather flushed. The talk turned, as before, on the castle- 
competition. 

“To know his design is to win,” said Dare. “ And to win 
is to send him back to London where he came from.” 

Havill inquired if Dare had seen any sketch of the design 
while with Somerset ? 

. “ Not a line. I was concerned only with the old building.” 

“ Not to know it is to lose, undoubtedly,” murmured Havill. 

“ Suppose we go for a walk that way, instead of consulting 
here ? ” 

They went down the town, and along the highway. When 
they reached the entrance to the park a man driving a basket- 
carriage came out from the gate and passed them by in the 
gloom. 

“ That was he,” said Dare. “ He sometimes drives over 
from the hotel, and sometimes walks. He has been working 
late this evening.” 

Strolling on under the trees they met three masculine figures, 
laughing and talking loudly. 

“ Those are the three first-class London draughtsmen, 
Bowles, Knowles, and Cockton, whom he has engaged to 
assist him, regardless of expense,” continued Dare. 

“ O Lord ! ” groaned Havill. “ There’s no chance for me.” 

The castle now arose before them, endowed by the rayless 


122 


A LAODICEAN. 


shade with a more massive majesty than either sunlight or 
moonlight could impart ; and Havill sighed again as he thought 
of what he was losing by Somerset's rivalry. “ Well, what was 
the use of coming here ? ” he asked. 

“ I thought it might suggest something — some way of seeing 
the design. The servants would let us into his room, I dare 
say.” 

“ I don’t care to ask. Let us walk through the wards, and 
then homeward.” 

They sauntered on smoking, Dare leading the way through 
the gate-house into a corridor which was not inclosed, a lamp 
hanging at the further end. 

“We are getting into the inhabited part, I think,” said 
Havill. 

Dare, however, had gone on, and knowing the tortuous 
passages from his few days’ experience in measuring them with 
Somerset, he came to the butler’s pantry. Dare knocked, and 
nobody answering he entered, took down a key which hung 
behind the door, and rejoined Havill. “ It is all right,” he said. 
“ The cat’s away ; and the mice are at play in consequence.” 

Proceeding up a stone staircase he unlocked the door of a 
room in the dark, struck a light inside, and returning to the 
door called in a whisper to Havill, who had remained behind. 
“ This is Mr. Somerset’s studio,” he said. 

“ How did you get permission ? ” inquired Havill, not 
knowing that Dare had seen no one. 

“ Anyhow,” said Dare, carelessly. “ We can examine the 
plans at leisure ; for if the placid Mrs. Goodman, who is the 
only one at home, sees the light, she will only think it is 
Somerset still at work.” 

Dare uncovered the drawings, and young Somerset’s brain* 
work for the last six weeks lay under their eyes. To Dare, 
who was too cursory to trouble himself by entering into such 
details, it had very little meaning ; but the design shone into 
Havill’s head like a light into a dark place. It was original ; 
and it was fascinating. Its originality lay partly in the circum- 
stance that Somerset had not attempted to adapt an old 
building to the wants of the new civilisation. He had placed 
his new erection beside it as a slightly attached structure, 
harmonising with the old ; heightening and beautifying, rather 
than subduing it. His work formed a palace, with a ruinous 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


123 


castle annexed as a curiosity. To Havill the conception had 
more charm than it could have to the most appreciative out- 
sider ; for when a mediocre and jealous mind that has been 
cudgelling itself over a problem capable of many solutions, 
lights on the solution of a rival, all possibilities in that kind 
seem to merge in the one beheld. 

Dare was struck by the arrested expression of the archi- 
tect’s face. “ Is it rather good ? ” he asked. 

“Yes, rather,” said Havill, subduing himself. 

“ More than rather ? ” 

“ Yes, the clever devil ! ” exclaimed Havill, unable to 
depreciate longer. 

“ How ? ” 

“The enigma that has worried me three weeks he has 
solved in a way which is simplicity itself. He has got it, and 
I am undone ! ” 

“Nonsense, don’t give way. Let’s make a tracing.” 

“ The ground-plan will be sufficient,” said Havill, his courage 
reviving. “ The idea is so simple, that if once seen it is not 
easily forgotten.” 

A rough tracing of Somerset’s design was quickly made, and 
blowing out the candle with a wave of his hand the younger 
gentleman locked the door, and they went downstairs again. 

“ I should never have thought of it,” said Havill, as they 
walked homeward. 

“ One man has need of another every ten years : Ogni died 
anni un uomo ha bisogno delV altro , as they say in Italy. You’ll 
help me for this turn if I have need of you ? ” 

“ I shall never have the power.” 

“ Oh yes you will. A man who can contrive to get admitted 
to a competition by writing a letter abusing another man, has 
any amount of power. The stroke was a good one.” 

Havill was silent till he said, “ I think these gusts mean 
that we are to have a storm of rain.” 

Dare looked up. The sky was overcast, the trees shivered, 
and a drop or two began to strike into the walkers’ coats from 
the east. They were not far from the inn at Sleeping-Green, 
where Dare had lodgings, occupying the rooms which had been 
used by Somerset till he gave them up for more commodious 
chambers at Markton ; and they decided to turn in there till 
the rain should be over. 

Vol 7 


(E) 


124 


A LAODICEAN. 


Having possessed himself of Somerset’s brains Havill- was 
inclined to be jovial, and ordered the best in wines that the 
house afforded. Before starting from home they had drunk as 
much as was good for them : so that their potations here soon 
began to have a marked effect upon their tongues. The rain 
beat upon the windows with a dull dogged pertinacity which 
seemed to signify boundless reserves of the same and long con- 
tinuance. The wind rose, the sign creaked, and the candles 
waved. The weather had, in truth, broken up for the season, 
and this was the first night of the change. 

“ Well, here we are,” said Havill, as he poured out another 
glass of the brandied liquor called old port at Sleeping-Green ; 
“ and it seems that here we are to remain for the present.” 

“ I am at home anywhere ! ” cried the lad, whose brow was 
hot and eye wild. 

Havill, who had not drunk enough to affect his reasoning, 
held up his glass to the light and said, “ I never can quite 
make out what you are, or what your age is. Are you sixteen, 
one-and-twenty, or twenty-seven ? And are you an English- 
man, Frenchman, Indian, American, or what ? You seem not 
to have taken your degrees in these parts.” 

“ That’s a secret, my friend,” said Dare. “ I am a citizen 
of the world. I owe no country patriotism, and no king or 
queen obedience. A man whose country has no boundary is 
your only true gentleman.” 

“ Well,” where were you bom— somewhere, I suppose ? ” 

“ It would be a fact worth the telling. The secret of my birth 
lies here.” And Dare slapped his breast with his right hand. 

“ Literally, just under your shirt-front; or figuratively, in 
your heart ? ” asked Havill. 

“ Literally there. It is necessary that it should be recorded, 
for one’s own memory is a treacherous book of reference, 
should verification be required at a time of delirium, disease, 
or death.” 

Havill asked no further what he meant, and went to the 
door. Finding that the rain still continued he returned to 
Dare, who was by this time sinking down in a one-sided 
attitude, as if hung up by the shoulder. Informing his com- 
panion that he was but little inclined to move far in such 
a tempestuous night, he decided Jo remain in the inn till next 
morning. 


DARE AND HAVILL. 


125 


On calling in the landlord, however, they learnt that the 
house was full of farmers on their way home from a large sheep- 
fair in the neighbourhood, and that several of these, having 
decided to stay on account of the same tempestuous weather, 
had already engaged the spare beds. If Mr. Dare would give 
up his room, and share a double-bedded room with Mr. Havill, 
the thing could be done, but not otherwise. 

To this the two companions agreed, and presently went 
upstairs with as gentlemanly a walk and vertical a candle as 
they could exhibit under the circumstances. 

The other inmates of the inn soon retired to rest, and the 
storm raged on unheeded by all local humanity. 


CHAPTER III. 

At two o’clock the rain lessened its fury. At half-past two the 
obscured moon shone forth ; and at three Havill awoke. The 
blind had not been pulled down overnight, and the moonlight 
streamed into the room, across the bed whereon Dare was 
sleeping. He lay on his back, his arms thrown out ; and his 
well-curved youthful form looked like an unpedestaled Diony- 
sus in the colourless lunar rays. 

Sleep had cleared Havill’s mind from the drowsing effects of 
the last night’s sitting, and he thought of Dare’s mysterious 
manner in speaking of himself. This lad resembled the 
Etruscan youth Tages, in one respect, that of being a boy with, 
seemingly, the wisdom of a sage ; and the effect of his presence 
was now heightened by all those sinister and mystic attributes 
which are lent by nocturnal environment. He who in broad 
daylight might be but a young chevalier d Industrie was now an 
unlimited possibility in social phenomena. Havill remembered 
how the lad had pointed to his breast, and said that his secret 
was literally kept there. The architect was too much of a 
provincial to have quenched the common curiosity that was 
part of his nature by the acquired metropolitan indifference to 
other people’s lives which, in essence more unworthy even than 
the former, causes less practical inconvenience in its exercise. 


126 


A LAODICEAN. 


Dare was breathing profoundly. Instigated as above men- 
tioned, Havill got out of bed and stood beside the sleeper. 
After a moment’s pause he gently pulled back the unfastened 
collar of Dare’s nightshirt and saw a word tattooed in distinct 
characters on his breast. Before there was time for Havill to 
decipher it Dare moved slightly, as if conscious of disturbance, 
and Havill hastened back to bed. Dare bestirred himself yet 
more, whereupon Havill breathed heavily, though keeping an 
intent glance on the lad through his half-closed eyes to learn if 
he had been aware of the investigation. 

Dare was certainly conscious of something, for he sat up, 
rubbed his eyes, and gazed around the room ; then after a few 
moments of reflection he drew some article from beneath his 
pillow. A blue gleam shone from the object as Dare held it in 
the moonlight, and Havill perceived that it was a small 
revolver. 

A clammy dew broke out upon the face and body of the 
architect when, stepping out of bed with the weapon in his 
hand, Dare lookfed under the bed, behind the curtains, out of the 
window, and into a closet, as if convinced that something had 
occurred, but in doubt as to what it was. He then came 
across to where Havill was lying and still keeping up the 
appearance of sleep. Watching him awhile and mistrusting 
the reality of this semblance, Dare brought it to the test by 
holding the revolver within a few inches of Havill’s forehead. 

Havill could stand no more. Crystallised with terror, he 
said, without however moving more than his lips, in dread of 
hasty action on the part of Dare : “ Oh, good Lord, Dare, Dare, 
I have done nothing ! ” 

The youth smiled and lowered the pistol. “ I was only 
finding out whether it was you or some burglar who had been 
playing tricks upon me. I find it was you.” 

“ Do put away that thing ! It is too ghastly to produce in a 
respectable bedroom. Why do you carry it ? ” 

“ Cosmopolites always do. Now answer my questions. 
What were you up to ? ” and Dare as he spoke played with the 
pistol again. 

Havill had recovered some coolness. “ You could not use 
it upon me,” he said sardonically, watching Dare. “ It would 
be risking your neck for too little an object.” 

“ l did not think you were shrewd enough to see that.” 


DARE AND HA VILE 


127 


replied Dare care’essly, as he returned the revolver to its 
place. “ Well, whether you have outwitted me or no, you will 
keep the secret as long as I choose.” 

“ Why ? ” said Havill. 

“Because I keep your secret of the letter abusing Miss P., 
and of the pilfered tracing you carry in your pocket.” 

“ It is quite true,” said Havill. 

They went to bed again. Dare was soon asleep ; but Havill 
did not attempt to disturb him again. The elder man slept 
but fitfully. He was aroused in the morning by a heavy 
rumbling and jingling along the highway overlooked by the 
window, the front wall of the house being shaken by the 
reverberation. 

“ There is no rest for me here,” he said, rising and going to 
the window, carefully avoiding the neighbourhood of Mr. 
Dare. When Havill had glanced out he returned to dress 
himself. 

“ What’s that noise ? ” said Dare, awakened by the same 
rumble. 

“ It is the Artillery going away.” 

“ FYom where ? ” 

“ Markton barracks.” 

“Hurrah!” said Dare, jumping up in bed. “I have been 
waiting for that these six weeks.” 

Havill did not ask questions as to the meaning of this 
unexpected remark. 

When they were downstairs Dare’s first act was to ring the 
bell and ask if his Army and Navy Gazette had arrived. 

While the servant was gone Havill cleared his throat and 
said, “I am an architect, and I take in the Architect; you 
are an architect, and you take in the Army and Navy Gazette .” 

“ I am not an architect any more than I am a soldier ; but I 
have taken in the Army and Navy Gazette these many weeks.” 

When they were at breakfast the paper came in. Dare 
hastily tore it open and glanced at the pages. 

“ I am going to Markton after breakfast ! ” he said suddenly, 
before looking up ; “we will walk together, if you like ? ” 

They walked together as planned, and entered Markton 
about ten o’clock. 

“ I have just to make a call here,” said Dare, when they 
were opposite the barrack-entrance on the outskirts of the town, 


128 


A LAODICEAN. 


where wheel-tracks and a regular chain of hoof-marks left by 
the departed batteries were imprinted in the gravel between 
the open gates. “I shall not be a moment.” Havill stood 
still while his companion entered and asked the commissary in 
charge, or somebody representing him, when the new batteries 
would arrive to take the place of those which had gone away. 
He was informed that it would be about noon. 

“Now I am at your service,” said Dare, “ and will help you 
to rearrange your design by the new intellectual light we have 
acquired.” 

They entered Havill’s office and set to work. When con- 
trasted with the tracing from Somerset’s plan, Havill’ s design, 
which was not far advanced, revealed all its weaknesses to 
him. After seeing Somerset’s scheme the bands of Havill’s 
imagination were loosened : he laid his own previous efforts 
aside, got fresh sheets of drawing-paper and drew with vigour. 

“ I may as well stay and help you,” said Dare. “ 1 have 
nothing to do till twelve o’clock; and not much then.” 

So there he remained. \t a quarter to twelve children and 
idlers began to gather against the railings of Havill’s house. 
A few minutes past twelve the noise of an arriving host was 
heard at the entrance to the town. Thereupon Dare and 
Havill went to the window. 

The X and Y Batteries of the Z Brigade, Royal Horse 
Artillery, were entering Markton, each headed by the major 
with his bugler behind him. In a moment they came abreast 
and passed, every man in his place. 

Six shining horses, in pairs, harnessed by rope-traces white 
as milk, with a driver on each near horse : 

Two gunners on the lead-coloured stout-wheeled limber, 
their carcases jolted to a jelly for lack of springs : 

Two gunners on the lead-coloured stout-wheeled gun- 
carriage, in the same personal condition : 

The nine-pounder gun, dipping its heavy head to earth, as if 
ashamed of its office in these enlightened times : 

The complement of jingling and prancing troopers, riding at 
the wheels and elsewhere : 

Six shining horses with their drivers, and traces white as 
milk, as before : 

Two more gallant jolted men, on another jolting limber and 
more stout wheels and lead-coloured paint 1 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


129 


Two more jolted men on another drooping gun : 

More jingling troopers on horseback : 

Again six shining draught-horses, traces, drivers, gun, 
gunners, lead paint, stout wheels and troopers as before. 

So each detachment lumbered slowly by, all eyes martially 
forward, except when wandering in quest -of female beauty. 

“ He’s a fine fellow, is he not?” said Dare, denoting by a 
nod a mounted officer, with a sallow, yet handsome face, and 
black moustache, who came up on a bay gelding with the men 
of his battery. 

“ What is he ?” said Havill. 

A captain who lacks advancement.” 

“ Do you know him ? ” 

“ I know him ? ” 

“ Yes ; do you ? ” 

Dare made no reply ; and they watched the captain as he 
rode past with his drawn sword in his hand, the sun making 
little suns upon its blade, and upon his brilliantly polished long 
boots and bright spurs ; also warming his gold cross-belt and 
braidings, white gloves, busby with its red bag, and tall white 
plume. 

Havill seemed to be too indifferent to press his questioning ; 
and when all the soldiers had passed by, Dare observed to his 
companion that he should leave him for a short time, but 
would return in the afternoon or next day. 

After this he walked up the street in the rear of the artillery, 
following them to the barracks. On reaching the gates he 
found a crowd of people gathered outside, looking with admira- 
tion at the guns and gunners drawn up within the enclosure. 
When the soldiers were dismissed to their quarters the sight- 
seers dispersed, and Dare went through the gates to the 
barrack-yard. 

The guns were standing on the green; the soldiers and 
horses were scattered about, and the handsome captain whom 
Dare had pointed out to Havill was inspecting the buildings in 
the company of the quarter-master. Dare made a mental note 
of these things, and, apparently changing a previous intention, 
went out from the barracks and returned to the town. 


K 


i3o 


A LAODICEAN . 


CHAPTER IV. 

To return for a while to George Somerset. The sun of his 
later existence having vanished from that young man’s horizon, 
he confined himself closely to the studio, superintending the 
exertions of his draughtsmen Bowles, Knowles and Cockton, 
who were now in the full swing of working out Somerset’s 
creations from the sketches he had previously prepared. 

He had so far got the start of Havill in the competition that, 
by the help of these three gentlemen, his design was soon 
finished. But he gained no unfair advantage on this account, 
an additional month being allowed to Havill to compensate for 
his later information. 

Before sealing up his drawings Somerset wished to spend a 
short time in London, and dismissing his assistants till further 
notice, he locked up the rooms which had been appropriated 
as office and studio and prepared for the journey. 

It was afternoon. Somerset walked from the castle in the 
direction of the wood to reach Markton by a ddtour. He had 
not proceeded far when there approached his path a man 
riding a bay horse with a square-cut tail. The equestrian wore 
a grizzled beard, and looked at Somerset with a piercing eye as 
he noiselessly ambled nearer over the soft sod of the park. He 
proved to be Mr. Cunningham Haze, chief constable of the 
district, who had become slightly known to Somerset during 
his sojourn here. 

“One word, Mr. Somerset,” said the constable, after they 
had exchanged nods of recognition, reining his horse as he 
spoke. 

Somerset stopped. 

“ You have a studio at the castle in which you are preparing 
drawings ? ” 

“I have.” 

“ Have you a clerk ? ” 

“ I had three till yesterday, when I paid them off.” 

“ Would they have any right to enter the studio late at 
night ? ” 


DARE AND HAVILL. 131 

“ There would have been nothing wrong in their doing so. 
Either of them might have gone back at any time for some- 
thing forgotten. They lived quite near the castle.” 

“ Ah, then all is explained. I was riding past over the 
grass on the night of last Thursday, and I saw two persons in 
your studio with a light. It must have- been about half-past 
nine o’clock. One of them came forward and pulled down the 
blind so that the light fell upon his face. But I only saw it for 
a short time.” 

“ If it were Knowles or Cockton he would have had a 
beard.” 

“ He had no beard.” 

“ Then it must have been Bowles. A young man ?” 

“ Quite young. His companion in the background seemed 
older.” 

“ They are all about the same age really. By the way — it 
couldn’t have been Dare — and Havill, surely ! Would you 
recognise them again ? ” 

“ The young one possibly. The other not at all, for he 
remained in the shade.” 

Somerset endeavoured to discern in a description by the 
chief constable the features of Mr. Bowles ; but it seemed to 
approximate more closely to Dare in spite of himself. “ I’ll 
make a sketch of the only one who had no business there, and 
show it to you,” he presently said. “ I should like this cleared 
up.” 

Mr. Cunningham Haze said he was going to Casterbridge 
that afternoon, but would return in the evening before Somerset’s 
departure. With this they parted. A possible motive for 
Dare’s presence in the rooms had instantly presented itself to 
Somerset’s mind, for. he had seen Dare enter Havill’s office 
more than once, as if he were at wofk there. 

He accordingly sat on the next stile, and taking out his 
pocket-book began a pencil sketch of Dare’s head, to show to 
Mr. Haze in the evening ; for if Dare had indeed found ad- 
mission with Havill, or as his agent, the design was lost. 

But he could not make a drawing that was a satisfactory 
likeness. Then he luckily remembered that Dare, in the 
intense warmth of admiration he had affected for Somerset on 
the first day or two of their acquaintance, had begged for his 
photograph, and in return for it had left one of himself on the 

K 2 


132 


A LAODICEAN. 


inantel-piece, taken as he said by his own process. Somerset 
resolved to show this production to Mr. Haze, as being more 
to the purpose than a sketch, and instead of finishing the latter, 
proceeded on his way. 

He entered the old overgrown drive which wound indirectly 
through the wood to Markton. The road, having been laid 
out for idling rather than for progress, bent sharply hither 
and thither among the fissured trunks and layers of horny 
leaves which lay there all the year round, interspersed with 
cushions of vivid green moss that formed oases in the rust-red 
expanse. 

Reaching a point where the road made one of its bends 
between two large beeches, a man and woman revealed them- 
selves at a few yards’ distance, walking slowly towards him. 
In the short and quaint lady he recognised Charlotte De Stancy, 
whom he remembered not to have seen for several days. 

She slightly blushed and said, “ Oh, this is pleasant, Mr. 
Somerset ! Let me present my brother to you, Captain De 
Stancy, of the Royal Horse Artillery.” 

Her brother came forward and shook hands heartily with 
Somerset ; and they all three rambled on together, talking of 
the season, the place, the fishing, the shooting, and whatever 
else came uppermost in their minds. 

Captain De Stancy was a personage who would have been 
called interesting by women well out of their teens. He was 
ripe, without having declined a digit towards fogeyism. He 
was sufficiently old and experienced to suggest a goodly ac- 
cumulation of touching amourettes in the chambers of his 
memory, and not too old for the possibility of increasing the 
store. He was apparently about eight-and-thirty, less tall than 
his father had been, but admirably made ; and his every 
movement exhibited a fine ‘combination of strength and flexi- 
bility of limb. His face was somewhat thin and thoughtful, its 
complexion being naturally pale, though darkened by exposure 
to a warmer sun than ours. His features were somewhat 
striking ; his moustache and hair raven black ; and his eyes, 
denied the attributes of military keenness by reason of the 
largeness and darkness of their aspect, acquired thereby a soft- 
ness of expression that was in part womanly. His mouth as 
far as it could be seen reproduced this characteristic, which 
might have been called weakness, or goodness, according to 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


133 


the mental attitude of the observer. It was large but well 
formed, and showed an unimpaired line of teeth within. His 
dress at present was a heather-coloured rural suit, cut close to 
his figure. 

“You knew my cousin, Jack Ravensbury?” he said to 
Somerset, as they went on. “Poor. Jack: he was a good 
fellow.” 

“ He was a very good fellow.” 

“ He would have been made a parson if he had lived — it was 
his great wish. I, as his senior, and a man of the world as I 
thought myself, used to chaff him about it when he was a boy, 
and tell him not to be a milksop, but to enter the army. But I 
think Jack was right — the parsons have the best of it, I see now.” 

“ They would hardly admit that,” said Somerset laughing. 
“ Nor can I.” 

“ Nor I,” said the captain's sister. “ See how lovely you 
all looked with your big guns and uniform when you entered 
Markton ; and then see how stupid the parsons look by com- 
parison, when they flock into Markton at a Visitation.” 

“ Ah, yes,” said De Stancy, 

Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade ; 

But when of the first sight you’ve had your fill, 

It palls — at least it does so upon me, 

This paradise of pleasure and ennui. 

When one is getting on for forty ; 

When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming, 

Dressed* voted, shone, and maybe, something more ; 

With dandies dined, heard senators declaiming ; 

Seen beauties brought to market by the score, 

and so on, there arises a strong desire for a quiet oldfashionetl 
country life, in which incessant movement is not a necessary 
part of the programme.” 

“ But you are not forty, Will ? ” said Charlotte. 

“ My dear, I was thirty-nine last January.” 

“ Well, men about here are youths at that age. It was India 
used you up so, when you served in the line, was it not ? I 
wish you had never gone there ! ” 

“ So do I,” said De Stancy, drily. “ But I ought to grow a 
youth again, like the rest, now I am in my native air.” 


'34 


A LAODICEAN. 


They came to a narrow brook, not wider than a man’s stride, 
and Miss De Stancy halted on the edge. 

“ Why, Lottie, you used to jump it easily enough,” said her 
brother. “ But we won’t make her do it now.” He took her 
in his arms, and lifted her over, giving her a gratuitous ride 
for some additional yards, and saying, “ You are not a pound 
heavier, Lott, than you were at ten years old. . . . What do 
you think of the country here, Mr. Somerset ? Are you going 
to stay long ? ” 

“ I think very well of it,” said Somerset. “ But I leave 
to-morrow morning, which makes it necessary that I turn back 
in a minute or two from walking with you.” 

“ That’s a disappointment. I had hoped you were going to 
finish out the autumn with shooting. There’s some, very fair, 
to be got here on reasonable terms, I’ve just heard.” 

“ But you need not hire any ! ” spoke up Charlotte. “ Paula 
would let you shoot anything, I am sure. She has not been 
here long enough to preserve much game, and the poachers 
had it all in Mr. Wilkins’ time. But what there is you might 
kill with pleasure to her.” 

“ No, thank you,” said De Stancy, grimly. “ I prefer to 
remain a stranger to Miss Power — Miss Steam-Power, she 
ought to be called — and to all her possessions.” 

Charlotte was subdued, and did not insist further ; while 
Somerset, before he could feel himself able to decide on the 
mood in which the gallant captain’s joke at Paula’s expense 
should be taken, wondered whether it were a married man or a 
bachelor who uttered it. 

He had not been able to keep the question of De Stancy’s 
domestic state out of his head from the first moment of seeing 
him. Assuming De Stancy to be a husband, he felt there 
might be some excuse for his remark ; if unmarried, Somerset 
liked the satire still better ; in such circumstances there was a 
relief in the thought that Captain De Stancy’s prejudices might 
be infinitely stronger than those of his sister or father. 

“ Going to-morrow, did you say, Mr. Somerset ?” asked Miss 
De Stancy. “ Then will you dine with us to-day ? My father 
is anxious that you should do so before you go. I am sorry 
there will be only our own family present to meet you ; but you 
can leave as early as you wish.” 

Her brother seconded the invitation, and Somerset promised, 


DARE AND HA V/LL. 


135 


though his leisure for that evening was short. He was in truth 
somewhat inclined to like De Stancy ; for though the captain 
had said nothing of any value either on war, commerce, science, 
or art, he had seemed attractive to the younger man. Beyond 
the natural interest a soldier has for imaginative minds in the 
civil walks of life, De Stancy’s occasional manifestations of 
tedium vite were too poetically shaped to be repellent. 
Gallantry combined in him with a sort of ascetic self-repression, 
in a way that was curious. He was a dozen years older than 
Somerset: his life had been passed in grooves remote from 
those of Somerset’s own life ; and the latter decided that he 
would like to meet the artillery officer again. 

Bidding them a temporary farewell, he went away to 
Markton by a shorter path than that pursued by the De 
Stancys, and after spending the remainder of the afternoon 
preparing for departure, he sallied forth just before the dinner- 
hour towards the suburban villa. 

He had become yet more curious whether a Mrs. De Stancy 
existed ; if there were one he would probably see her to-night. 
He had an irrepressible hope that there might be such a lady. 
On entering the drawing-room only the father, son, and 
daughter were assembled. Somerset fell into talk with 
Charlotte during the few minutes before dinner, and his thought 
found its way out. 

“ There is no Mrs. De Stancy ? ” he said in an undertone. 

“ None,” she said; “ my brother is a bachelor.” 

The dinner having been fixed at an early hour to suit 
Somerset, they had returned to the drawing-room at eight 
o’clock. About nine he was aiming to get away. 

“ You are not off yet ? ” said the captain. 

“ There would have been no hurry,” said Somerset, “ had I 
not just remembered that I have left one thing undone which I 
want to attend to before my departure. I want to see the chief 
constable to-night.” 

“ Cunninghum Haze ? — he is the very man I too want to 
see. But he went out of town this afternoon, and I hardly 
think you will see him to-night. His return has been 
delayed.” 

“ Then the matter must wait.” 

“ I have left word at his house asking him to call here if he 
gets home before half-past ten ; but at any rate I shall see him 


136 


A LAODICEAN. 


to-morrow morning. Can I do anything for you, since you are 
leaving early ? ” 

Somerset replied that the business was of no great import- 
ance, and briefly explained the suspected intrusion into his 
studio ; that he had with him a photograph of the suspected 
young man. “ If it is a mistake,” added Somerset, “ I should 
regret putting my draughtsman’s portrait into the hands of the 
police, since it might injure his character ; indeed, it would be 
unfair to him. So I wish to keep the likeness in my own 
hands, and merely to show it to Mr. Haze : that’s why I prefer 
not to send it.” 

“ My matter with Haze is that the barrack furniture does not 
correspond with the inventories. If you like, I’ll ask your 
question at the same time with pleasure.” 

Thereupon Somerset gave Captain De Stancy an unfastened 
envelope containing the portrait, asking him to destroy it if the 
constable should declare it not to correspond with the face that 
met his eye at the window. Soon after, Somerset took his 
leave of the household. 

He had not been absent ten minutes when other wheels 
were heard on the gravel without, and the servant announced 
Mr. Cunningham Haze, who had returned earlier than he had 
expected and had called as requested. 

They went into the dining-room to discuss their business. 
When the barrack matter had been arranged De Stancy said, 
“ I have a little commission to execute for my friend Mr. 
Somerset. I am to ask you if this portrait of the person he 
suspects of unlawfully entering his room is like the man you 
saw there ? ” 

The speaker was seated on one side of the dining-table and 
Mr. Haze on the other. As he spoke De Stancy pulled the 
envelope from his pocket, and half drew out the photograph, 
which he had not as yet looked at, to hand it over to the 
constable. In the act his eye fell upon the portrait, with its 
uncertain expression of age, assured look, and hair worn in a 
fringe like a girl’s. 

Captain De Stancy grew sickly pale, and fell back gasping 
in his chair, having previously had sufficient power over him- 
self to close the envelope and return it to his pocket. 

“ Good heavens, you are ill, Captain De Stancy ? ” said the 
chief constable. 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


137 


“ It was only momentary,” said De Stancy faintly ; M belter 
in a minute — a glass of water will put me right.” 

Mr. Haze got him a glass of water from the side- 
board. 

(i These spasms occasionally overtake me,” said De Stancy 
when he had drunk. “ I am already better. What were we 
saying? Oh, this affair of Mr. Somerset’s. I find that this 
envelope is not the right one.” He ostensibly searched his 
pocket again. “ I must have mislaid it,” he continued, rising. 
“ I’ll be with you again in a moment.” 

De Stancy went into the room adjoining, opened an album 
of portraits that lay on the table, and selected one of a young 
man quite unknown to him, whose age was somewhat akin to 
Dare’s, but who in no other attribute resembled him. 

De Stancy placed this picture in the original envelope, and 
returned with it to the chief constable, saying he had found it 
at last 

“ Thank you, thank you,” said Cunningham Haze, looking 
it over. “ Ah — I perceive it is not what I expected to see. 
Mr. Somerset was mistaken.” 

When the chief constable had left the house, Captain De 
Stancy shut the door and drew out the original photograph. 
As he looked at the transcript of Dare’s features he was moved 
by a painful agitation till, recalling himself to the present, he 
carefully put the portrait into the fire. 

During the following days Captain De Stancy’s manner on 
the roads, in the streets, and at barracks, was that of Crusoe 
after seeing the print of a man’s foot on the sand. 


CHAPTER V. 

Anybody who had closely considered Dare at this time would 
have discoyered that, shortly after the arrival of the Royal 
Horse Artillery at Markton Barracks, he gave up his room at 
the inn at Sleeping-Green and took permanent lodgings over 
a broker’s shop at the upper end of the town above-mentioned. 
The peculiarity of the rooms was that they commanded a view 
lengthwise of the barrack road along which any soldier, in the 


r 3 8 


A LAODICEAN \ 


natural course of things, would pass either to enter the town, 
to call at Myrtle Villa, or to go to Stancy Castle. 

Dare seemed to act as if there were plenty of time for his 
business. Some few days had slipped by when, perceiving 
Captain De Stancy walk past his window and down the town, 
Dare took his hat and cane, and followed in the same direc- 
tion. When he was about fifty yards short of Myrtle Villa on 
the other side of the town he saw De Stancy enter its gate. 

Dare mounted a stile beside the highway and patiently 
waited. In about twenty minutes De Stancy came out again 
and turned back in the direction of the town, till Dare was 
revealed to him on his left hand. When De Stancy recog- 
nised the youth he was visibly agitated, though apparently not 
surprised. Standing still a moment he dropped his glance 
upon the ground, and then came forward to Dare, who having 
alighted from the stile stood before the captain with a smile. 

# “ My dear lad ! ” said De Stancy, much moved by recollec- 

tions. He held Dare’s hand for a moment in both his own, 
and turned askance. 

“You are not astonished,” said Dare, still retaining his 
smile, as if to his mind there were something comic in the 
situation. 

“ I knew you were somewhere near. Where do you come 
from ? ” 

“ From going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and 
down in it, as Satan said to his Maker. — Southampton last, in 
common speech.” 

“ Have you come here to see me ? ” 

“ Entirely. I divined that your next quarters would be 
Markton, the previous batteries that were at your station having 
come on here. I have wanted to see you badly.” 

“ You have ?” 

“ I am rather out of cash. I have been knocking about a 
good deal since you last heard from me.” 

“ I will do what I can again.” 

“Thanks, captain.” 

“ But Willy, I am afraid it will not be much at present You 
know I am as poor as a mouse.” 

“ But such as it is, could you write a cheque for it now ? ” 

“ I will send it to you from the barracks.” 

“ I have a better plan. By getting over this stile we could 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


139 


go round at the back of the villas to Sleeping-Green Church. 
There is always a pen-and-ink in the vestry, and we can have 
a nice talk on the way. It would be unwise for me to appear 
at the barracks just now.” 

“ That’s true.” 

De Stancy sighed, and they were about to walk across the 
fields together. “ No,” said Dare, suddenly stopping. “ My 
plans make it imperative that we should not run the risk of 
being seen in each other’s company for long. Walk on, and I 
will follow. You can stroll into the churchyard, and move 
about as if you were ruminating on the epitaphs. There are 
some with excellent morals. I’ll enter by the other gate, and 
we can meet easily in the vestry-room.” 

De Stancy looked gloomy, and was on the point of acqui 
escing when he turned back and said, “Why should your photo- 
graph be shown to the chief constable ? ” 

“ By whom ? ” 

“ Somerset the architect. He suspects your having broken 
into his office or something of the sort.” De Stancy briefly 
related what Somerset had explained to him at the dinner- 
table. 

“ It was merely diamond cut diamond between us, on an 
architectural matter,” murmured Dare. “ Ho ! and he suspects 
and that’s his remedy ! I must be on my guard.” 

“ I hope this is nothing serious ? ” asked De Stancy gravely. 

“ I peeped at his drawing — that’s all. But since he chooses 
to make hat use of my photograph, which I gave him in 
friendship, I’ll make use of his in a way he little dreams of. 
Well now, let’s on.” 

A quarter of an hour later they met in the vestry of the 
church at Sleeping-Green. 

u I have only just transferred my account to the bank here,” 
said De Stancy, as he took out his cheque-book, “ and it will 
be more convenient to me at present to draw but a small sum. 
I will make up the balance afterwards ” 

When he had written it Dare glanced over the paper and 
said ruefully, “ It is small, dad. Well, there is all the more 
reason why I should broach my scheme, with a view to making 
such documents larger in the future.” 

“ I shall be glad to hear of any such scheme,” answered De 
Stancy, with a languid attempt at jocularity. 


140 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Then here it is. The plan I have arranged for you is ol 
the nature of a marriage.” 

“ You are very kind ! ” said De Stancy, agape. 

“ The lady’s name is Miss Paula Power, who, as you may 
have heard since your arrival, is in absolute possession of her 
father’s property and estates, including Stancy Castle. As soon 
as I heard of her I saw what a marvellous match it would be 
for you, and your family ; it would make a man of you, in 
short, and I have set my mind upon your putting no objection 
in the way of its accomplishment.” 

“ But, Willy, it seems to me that, of us two, it is you who 
exercise paternal authority ? ” 

“ True, it is for your good. Let me do it.” 

“Well, one must be indulgent under the circumstances, I 
suppose. . . . But,” added De Stancy, simply, “ Willy, I — don’t 
want to marry, you know. I have lately thought that some 
day we may be able to live together, you and I : go off to 
America or New Zealand, where we are not known, and there 
lead a quiet, pastoral life, defying social rules and troublesome 
observances.” 

“ I can’t hear of it, captain,” replied Dare, reprovingly. “ I 
am what events have made me, and having fixed my mind upon 
getting you settled in life by this marriage, I have put things in 
train for it at an immense trouble to myself. If you had 
thought over it o’ nights as much as I have, you would not say 
nay.” 

“ But I ought to have married your mother if anybody. 
And as I have not married her, the least I can do in respect to 
her is to marry no other woman.” 

“ You have some sort of duty to me, have you not, Captain 
De Stancy ? ” 

“Yes, Willy, I admit that I have,” the elder replied reflect- 
ively. “ And I don’t think I have failed in it thus far ? ” 

“ This will be the crowning proof. Paternal affection, 
family pride, the noble instinct to reinstate yourself in the 
castle of your ancestors, all demand the step. And when you 
have seen the lady ! She has the figure and motions of a sylph, 
the face of an angel, the eye of love itself. What a sight she 
is crossing the lawn on a sunny afternoon, or gliding airily 
along the corridors of the old place the De Stancys knew so 
well ! Her lips are the softest, reddest, most distracting things 


DARE AND HA VILL. 141 

you ever saw. Hei hair is as soft as silk, and of the rarest, 
tenderest brown.” 

The captain moved uneasily. “ Don’t take the trouble to 
say more, Willy,” he observed. “You know how I am. 
My cursed susceptibility to these matters has already wasted 
years of my life, and I don’t want to make myself a fool about 
her too.” 

“ You must see her.” 

“ No, don’t let me see her,” De Stancy expostulated. “ It 
she is only half so good-looking as you say, she will drag me at 
her heels like a blind Samson. You are a mere youth as yet, 
but I may tell you that the misfortune of never having been 
my own master where a beautiful face was concerned obliges 
me to be cautious if I would preserve my peace of mind.” 

“ Well, to my mind, Captain De Stancy, your objections 
seem trivial. Are those all ? ” 

“ They are all I care to mention just now to you.” 

“ Captain ! can there be secrets between us ? ” 

De Stancy paused and looked at the lad as if his heart 
wished to confess what his judgment feared to tell. “ There 
should not be — on this point,” he murmured. 

“Then tell me — why do you so much object to her?” 

u I once vowed a vow.” 

“ A vow ! ” said Dare, rather disconcerted. 

“ A vow of infinite solemnity. I must tell you from the 
beginning ; perhaps you are old enough to hear it now, 
though you have been too young before. Your mother’s life 
ended in much sorrow, and it was occasioned entirely by me. 
In my regret for the wrong done her I swore to her that though 
she had not been my wife, no other woman should stand in 
that relationship to me ; and this to her was a sort of comfort. 
When she was dead my knowledge of my own plaguy im- 
pressibility, which seemed to be ineradicable — as it seems still 
— led me to think what safeguards I could set over myself 
with a view to keeping my promise to live a life of celibacy ; 
and among other things I determined to forswear the society, 
and if possible the sight, of women young and attractive, as 
far as I had the power to do.” 

“ It is not so easy to avoid the sight of a beautiful woman if 
she crosses your path, I should think ? ” 

“ It is not easy ; but it is possible.” 


142 


A LAODICEAN. 


“How?” ' 

“ By directing your attention another way.” 

“ But do you mean to say, captain, that you can be in a room 
with a pretty woman who speaks to you, and not look at her?” 

“ I do : though mere looking has less to do with it than 
mental attentiveness — allowing your thoughts to flow out in 
her direction— to comprehend her image.” 

“ But it would be considered very impolite not to look at the 
woman or comprehend her image ? ” 

“ It would, and is. I am considered the most impolite 
officer in the service. I have been nicknamed the man with 
the averted eyes — the man with the detestable habit — the man 
who greets you with his shoulder, and so on. Ninety-and-nine 
fair women at the present moment hate me like poison and death 
for having persistently refused to plumb the depths of their 
offered eyes.” 

“ How can you do it, who are by nature courteous ? ” 

“ I cannot always — I break down sometimes. But, upon the 
whole, recollection holds me to it : dread of a lapse. Nothing 
is so potent as fear well maintained.” 

De Stancy narrated these details in a grave meditative tone 
with his eyes on the wall, as if he were scarcely conscious of a 
listener. 

“ But haven’t you reckless moments, captain ? — when you 
have taken a little more wine than usual, for instance ? ” 

“ I don’t take wine.” 

“ Oh, you are a teetotaller ? ” 

“ Not a pledged one — but I don’t touch alcohol unless I get 
wet, or anything of that sort.” 

“ Don’t you sometimes forget this vow of yours to my 
mother ? ” 

“No, I wear a reminder.” 

“ What is that like ? ” 

De Stancy held up his left hand, on the third finger of which 
appeared an iron ring. 

Dare surveyed it, saying, “ Yes, I have seen that before, 
though I never knew why you wore it. Well, I wear a re- 
minder also, but of a different sort.” 

He threw open his shirt-front, and revealed tattooed on his 
breast the letters DE STANCY ; the same marks which Havill 
had seen in the bedroom by the light of the moon. 


DARE AND HA VILE. 


M3 


The captain rather winced at the sight. “ Well, well,” he 
said hastily, “ that’s enough. . . . Now, at any rate, you 
understand my objection to know Miss Power.” 

“ But, captain,” said the lad coaxingly, as he fastened his 
shirt ; “ you forget me and the good you may do me by marry- 
ing ? Surely that’s a sufficient reason for a change of sentiment. 
This inexperienced sweet creature owns the castle and estate 
which bears your name, even to the furniture and pictures. 
She is the possessor of at least forty thousand a year — how 
much more I cannot say — while she lives at the rate of twelve 
hundred in her simplicity.” 

“ It is very good of you to set this before me. But I prefer 
to go on as I am going.” 

“ Well, I won’t bore you any more with her to-day. A monk 
in regimentals ! — ’tis strange.” Dare arose and was about to 
open the door, when, looking through the window, Captain De 
Stancy said, “ Stop.” He had perceived his father Sir William 
De Stancy walking among the tombstones without. 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Dare, turning the key in the door. “ It 
would look strange if he were to find us here.” 

As the old man seemed indisposed to leave the churchyard 
just yet they sat down again. 

“What a capital card-table this green cloth would make,” 
said Dare, as they waited. “You play, captain, I suppose?” 

“ Very seldom.” 

“ The same with me. But as I enjoy a hand of cards with a 
friend, I don’t go unprovided.” Saying which, Dare drew a 
pack from the tail of his coat. “ Shall we while away this 
leisure with the witching things ? ” 

“ Really, I’d rather not.” 

“ But,” coaxed the young man, “ I am in the humour for it ; 
so don’t be unkind ! ” 

“ But, Willy, why do you care for these things? Cards are 
harmless enough in their way; but I don’t like to see you 
carrying them in your pocket. It isn’t good for you.” 

“ It was by the merest chance I had them. Now come, just 
one hand, since we are prisoners. I want to show you how 
nicely I can play. I won’t corrupt you ! ” 

“ Of course not,” said De Stancy, as if ashamed of what his 
objection had implied. “ You are not corrupt enough yourself 
to do that, I should hope.” 


>44 


A LAODICEAN. 


The cards were dealt and they began to play — Captain De 
Stancy abstractedly, and with his eyes mostly straying out of 
the window upon the large yew, whose boughs as they moved 
were distorted by the old green window-panes. 

“ It is better than doing nothing,” said Dare, cheerfully, as 
the game went on. “ I hope you don’t dislike it ? ” 

“ Not if it pleases you,” said De Stancy, listlessly. 

“ And the consecration of this place does not extend further 
than the aisle wall.” 

“Doesn’t it?” said De Stancy, as he mechanically played 
out his cards. “ What became of that box of books I sent you 
w'ith my last cheque ? ” 

“ Well, as I hadn’t time to read them, and as I knew you 
would not like them to be wasted, I sold them to a bloke who 
peruses them from morning till night. Ah, now you have lost 
a pony altogether — how queer ! We’ll double the stakes. So, 
as I was saying, just at the time the books came I got an ink- 
ling of this important business, and literature went to the 
wall.” 

“ Important business — what ? ” 

“ The capture of this lady, to be sure.” 

De Stancy sighed impatiently. “ I wish you were less 
i ajculating, and had more of the impulse natural to your 
years ! ” 

“ Game — by Jove ! You have lost again, captain. That 
makes — let me see — nine pounds fifteen to square us.” 

“ I owe you that ? ” said De Stancy, startled. “ It is more 
than I have in cash. I must write another cheque.” 

“ Never mind. Make it payable to yourself, and our con- 
nection will be quite unsuspected.” 

Captain De Stancy did as requested, and rose from his seat 
Sir William, though further off, was still in the churchyard. 

“ How can you hesitate for a moment about this girl?” said 
Dare, pointing to the bent figure of the old man. “ Think of 
the satisfaction it would be to him to see his son within the 
family walls again. It should be a religion with you to compass 
such a legitimate end as this.” 

“ Well, well, I’ll think of it,” said the captain, with an im- 
patient laugh. “You are quite a Mephistopheles, Will — I say 
it to my sorrow ! ” 

“ Would that I were in your place.” 


DARE AND HA V1LL. 


145 

“ Would that you were ! Fifteen years ago I might have 
called the chance a magnificent one.” 

“ But you are a young man still, and you look younger than 
you are. Nobody knows our relationship, and I am not such 
a fool as to divulge it. Of course, if through me you reclaim 
this splendid possession, I should leave it to your feelings what 
you would do for me.” 

Sir William had by this time cleared out of the churchyard, 
and the pair emerged from the vestry and departed. Proceeding 
towards Markton by the same by-path, they presently came to 
an eminence covered with bushes of blackthorn, and tufts of 
yellowing fern. From this point a good view of the woods and 
glades about Stancy Castle could be obtained. Dare stood 
still on the top and stretched out his finger ; the captain's eye 
followed the direction, and he saw above the many-hued foliage 
in the middle distance the towering keep of Paula’s castle. 

“ That’s the goal of your ambition, captain— ambition do I 
say ? — most righteous and dutiful endeavour ! How the hoary 
shape catches the sunlight — it is the raison d'etre of the land- 
scape, and its possession is coveted by a thousand hearts. 
Surely it is an hereditary desire of yours ? You must make a 
point of returning to it, and appearing in the map of the future 
as in that of the past. I delight in this work of encouraging 
you, and pushing you forward towards your own. You are 
really very clever, you know, but — I say it with respect — how 
comes it that you want so much waking up ? ” 

“ Because I know the day is not so bright as it seems, my 
boy. However, you make a little mistake. If I care for any- 
thing on earth, I do care for that old fortress of my forefathers. 

I respect so little among the living that all my reverence is for 
my own dead. But manoeuvring, even for my own, as you call 
it, is not in my line. It is distasteful — it is positively hateful 
to me.” 

“ Well, well, let it stand thus for the present. But will you 
refuse me one little request— merely to see her? I’ll contrive 
it so that she may not see you. Don’t refuse me, it is the one 
thing I ask, and I shall think it hard if you deny me.” 

“ Oh Will ! ” said the captain wearily. “ Why will you 
plead so? No — even though your mind is particularly set 
upon it, I cannot see her, or bestow a thought upon her, much 
as I should like to gratify you.” 

L 


146 


A LAODICEAN. 


CHAPTER VI. 

When they had parted Dare walked along towards Marktci 
with resolve on his mouth and an unscrupulous light in his 
prominent black eye. Could any person who had heard the 
previous conversation have seen him now, he would have 
found little difficulty in divining that, notwithstanding De 
Stancy’s obduracy, the reinstation of Captain De Stancy in the 
castle, and the possible legitimation and enrichment of himself, 
was still the dream of his brain. Even should any legal 
settlement or offspring intervene to nip the extreme envelop- 
ment of his projects, there was abundant opportunity for his 
glorification. Two conditions were imperative. De Stancy 
must see Paula before Somerset’s return. And it was necessary 
to have help from Havill, even if it involved letting him know 
all. 

Whether Havill already knew all was a nice question for 
Mr. Dare’s luminous mind. Havill had had opportunities of 
reading his secret, particularly on the night they occupied the 
same room. If so, by revealing it to Paula, Havill might 
utterly blast his project for the marriage. Havill, then, was at 
all risks to be retained as an ally. 

Yet Dare would have preferred a stronger check upon his 
confederate than was afforded by his own knowledge of that 
anonymous letter and the competition trick. For were the 
competition lost to him, Havill would have no further interest 
in conciliating Miss Power ; would as soon as not let her know 
the secret of De Stancy’s relation to him, Dare, in retaliation 
for the snubbing and fright he had received by the production 
of the revolver. 

Fortune as usual helped him in his dilemma. Entering 
Havill’s office, Dare found aim sitting there ; but the drawings 
had all disappeared from the boards. The architect held an 
open letter in his hand. 

“ Well, what news?” said Dare. 

“ Miss Power has returned to the castle, Somerset is detained 


DARE AND HA VILE 


M 7 

in London, and the competition is decided,” said Havill, with 
a glance of quiet dubiousness. 

“ And you have won it ? ” 

“No. We are bracketed — it’s a tie. The judges say there 
is no choice between the designs — that they are singularly 
equal and singularly good. That she would do well to adopt 
either. Signed So-and-So, Fellows of the Royal Institute of 
British Architects. The result is that she will employ which 
she personally likes best. It is as if I had spun a guinea in the 
air and it had alighted on its edge. The least false movement 
will make it tails ; the least wise movement heads.” ' 

“ Singularly equal. Well, we owe that to our nocturnal visit, 
which must not be known.” 

“ Oh Lord, no ! ” said Havill apprehensively. 

Dare felt secure of him at those words. Havill had much 
at stake ; the slightest rumour of his trick in bringing about 
the competition would be fatal to Havill’s reputation ; his own 
position was consequently safe. 

“ The permanent absence of Somerset is then desirable 
architecturally on your account, matrimonially on mine.” 

“ Matrimonially ? By the way — who was that captain you 
pointed out to me when the artillery entered the town ? ” 

“ Captain De Stancy — son of Sir William De Stancy. He’s 
the husband. Oh you needn’t look incredulous : it is practi- 
cable ; but we won’t argue that. In the first place I want him 
to see her, and to see her in the most iove-kindling, passion- 
begetting circumstances that can be thought of. And he must 
see her surreptitiously, for he refuses to meet her.” 

“ Let him see her going to church or chapel ?” 

Dare shook his head. 

“ Driving out ? ” 

u Common-place.” 

“ Walk ing in the gardens ? ” 

“ Ditto.” 

u At her toilet ? ” 

“ Ah — if it were possible ! ” 

“ Which it hardly is. Well, you had better think it over and 
make inquiries about her habits, and as to when she is in a 
favourable aspect for observation, as the almanacs say.” 

Shortly afterwards Dare took his leave. In the evening he 
made it his business to sit smoking on the bole of a tree 

L 2 


148 


A LAODICEAN. 


which commanded a view of the upper ward of the castle, and 
also of the old postern-ga.e, now enlarged and used as a trades- 
men’s entrance. It was half-past six o’clock ; the dressing-bell 
rang, and Dare saw a light-footed young woman hasten at the 
sound across the ward from the servants’ quarter. A light 
appeared in a chamber which he knew to be Paula’s dressing- 
room ; and there it remained half an hour, a shadow passing and 
repassing on the blind in the style of head-dress worn by the 
girl he had previously seen. The dinner-bell sounded and the 
light went out. 

As yet it was scarcely dark out of doors, and in a few 
minutes Dare had the satisfaction of seeing the same woman 
cross the ward and emerge upon the slope without. This time 
she was bonneted, and carried a little basket in her hand. A 
nearer view showed her to be, as he had expected, Milly Birch, 
Paula’s maid, who had friends living in Markton, whom she 
was in the habit of visiting almost every evening during the 
three hours of leisure which intervened between Paula’s retire- 
ment from the dressing-room and return thither at ten o’clock. 
When the young woman had descended the road and passed 
into the large drive, Dare rose and followed her. 

“ Oh, it is you, Miss Birch,” said Dare, on overtaking her. 
u I am glad to have the pleasure of walking by your side.” 

“Yes, sir. Oh it’s Mr. Dare. We don’t see you at the 
castle now, sir.” 

“ No. And do you get a walk like this every evening when 
the others are at their busiest ? ” 

“ Almost every evening ; that’s the one return to the poor 
lady’s maid for losing her leisure when the others get it — in the 
absence of the family from home.” 

“ Is Miss Power a hard mistress ?” * 

“ No.” 

“ Rather fanciful than hard, I presume ? ” 

“ Just so, sir.” 

“ And she likes to appear to advantage, no doubt.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Milly, laughing. “ We all do.” 

“ When does she appear to the best advantage ? When 
riding, or driving, or reading her book ? ” 

“ Not altogether then, if you mean the very best” 

“ Perhaps it is when she sits looking in the glass at herself, 
and you let down her hair.” 


DARE AND HA VILL. Uq 

“ Not particularly, to my minH ” 

“ When does she to your mind ? When dressed for a dinner- 
party or ball ? ” 

“ She’s middling, then. But there is a time when she looks more 
bewitching than at any. It is when she is in the gymnasium.” 

“ Oh — gymnasium ? ” 

“ Because when she is there she wears such a pretty boy’s 
costume, and is so charming in her movements, that you think 
she is a lovely youth and not a girl at all.” 

“ When does she go to this gymnasium ? ” 

“ Not so much as she used to. Only on wet mornings now, 
when she can’t get out for walks or drives. But she used to do 
it every day.” 

“I should like to see her there.” 

“Why, sir?” 

“ I am a poor artist, and can’t afford models. To see her atti- 
tudes would be of great assistance to me in the art I love so well.” 

Milly shook her head. “ She’s very strict about the door 
being locked. If I were to leave it open she would dismiss 
me, as I should deserve.” 

“ But consider, dear Miss Birch, the advantage to a poor 
artist the sight of her would be : if you could hold the door ajar 
it would be worth five pounds to me, and a good deal to you.” 

“ No,” said the incorruptible Milly, shaking her head. “ Be- 
sides, I don’t always go there with her. Oh no, I couldn’t ! ” 

Milly remained so firm at this point that Dare said no more. 

When he had left her he returned to the castle grounds, and 
though there was not much light he had no difficulty in 
discovering the gymnasium, the outside of which he had 
observed before, without thinking to inquire its purpose. Like 
the erections in other parts of the shrubberies it was con- 
structed of wood, the interstices between the framing being 
filled up with short billets of fir nailed diagonally. Dare, even 
when without a settled plan in his head, could arrange for 
probabilities ; and wrenching out one of the billets he looked 
inside. It seemed to be a simple oblong apartment, fitted up 
with ropes, with a little dressing-closet at one end, and lighted 
by a skylight or lantern in the roof. Dare replaced the wood 
and went on his way. 

Havill was smoking on his doorstep when Dare passed up 
the street. He held up his hand. % 


A LAODICEAN. 


150 

“ Since you have been gone,” said the architect, “ I’ve hit 
upon something that may help you in exhibiting your lady to 
your gentleman. In the summer I had orders to design a 
gymnasium for her, which I did ; and they say she is very 
clever on the ropes and bars. Now ” 

“ I’ve discovered it. I shall contrive for him to see her 
there on the first wet morning, which is when she practices. 
What made, her think of it ? ” 

“ As you may have heard, she holds advanced views on 
social and other matters ; and in those on the higher education 
of women she is very strong, talking a good deal about the 
physical training of the Greeks, whom she adores, or did. 
Every philosopher and man of science who ventilates his 
theories in the monthly reviews has a devout listener in her ; 
and this subject of the physical development of her sex has 
had its turn with other things in her mind. So she had the 
place built on her very first arrival, according to the latest 
lights on athletics, and in imitation of those at the new colleges 
for women.” 

“ How deuced clever of the girl ! She means to live to be a 
hundred.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

The wet day arrived with all the promptness that might 
have been expected of it in this land of rains and mists. The 
alder bushes behind the gymnasium dripped monotonously 
leaf upon leaf, added to this being the purl of the shallow 
stream a little way off, producing a sense of satiety in watery 
sounds. Though there was drizzle in the open meads, the 
rain here in the thicket was comparatively slight, and two men 
with fishing tackle who stood beneath one of the larger 
bushes found its boughs a sufficient shelter. 

“ We may as well walk home again as study nature here, 
Willy,” said the taller and elder of the twain. “ I feared it 
would continue when we started. The magnificent sport you 
speak of must rest for to-day.” 

The other looked at his watch, but made no particular reply. 


DARE AND HA VILL. 


ISI 

“ Come, let us move on. I don’t like intruding into other 
people’s grounds like this,” De Stancy continued. 

“We are not intruding. Anybody walks outside this 
fence.” He indicated an iron railing newly tarred, dividing 
the wilder underwood amid which they stood from the inner 
and well-kept parts of the shrubbery, and against which the 
back of the gymnasium was built. 

Light footsteps upon a gravel walk could be heard on the 
other side of the fence, and a trio of cloaked and umbrella- 
screened figures were for a moment discernible. They van- 
ished behind the gymnasium ; and again nothing resounded but 
the river murmurs and the clock-like drippings of the leafage. 

“ Hush ! ” said Dare. 

“ No pranks, my boy,” said De Stancy, suspiciously. “ You 
should be above them.” 

“ And you should trust to my good sense, captain,” Dare 
remonstrated. “ I have not indulged in a prank since the 
sixth year of my pilgimage : I have found them too damaging 
to my interests. Well, it is not too dry here, and damp 
injures your health, you say. x Have a pull for safety’s sake.” 
He presented a flask to De Stancy. 

The artillery officer looked down at his nether garments. 

“ I don’t break my rule without good reason,” he observed. 

“Iam afraid that reason exists at present.” 

“ I am afraid it does. What have you got ? ” 

“ Only a little wine.” 

“ What wine ? ” 

“ Do try it I call it ‘ the blushful Hippocrene,’ that the 
poet describes as 

‘ Tasting of Flora and the country green ; ' 

Dance, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth.’ 

De Stancy took the flack, and drank a little. 

“ It warms, does it not ? ” said Dare. 

“ Too much,” said De Stancy with misgiving. “ I have been 
taken unawares. Why, it is three parts brandy, to my taste, 
you scamp ! ” 

Dare put away the wine. “ Now you are to see something,” 
he said. 

“ Something— what is it?” Captain De Stancy regarded 
him with a puzzled look. 


I?2 


A LAODICEAN. 


“It is quite a curiosity, and really worth seeing. Now just 
look in here.” 

The speaker advanced to the back of the building, and with- 
drew the wood billet from the wall. 

“ Will, I believe you are up to some trick,” said De Stancy, 
not, however, suspecting the actual truth in these unsuggestive 
circumstances, and with a comfortable resignation, produced by 
the potent liquor, which would have been comical to an out- 
sider, but which, to one who had known the history and ie 
lationship of the two speakers, would have worn a sadder 
significance. “ I am too big a fool about you to keep you down 
as I ought, that’s the fault of me, worse luck.” 

He pressed the youth’s hand with a smile, went forward, and 
looked through the hole into the interior of the gymnasium. 
Dare withdrew to some little distance, and watched Captain 
De Stancy’s face, which presently began to change. 

What was the captain seeing ? A sort of optical poem. 

Paula, in a pink flannel costume, was bending, wheeling and 
undulating in the air like a gold-fish in its globe, sometimes 
ascending by her arms nearly to the lantern, then lowering her- 
self till she swung level with the floor. Her aunt Mrs. Good- 
man, and Charlotte De Stancy, were sitting on camp-stools at 
one end, watching her gyrations, Paula, occasionally addressing 
them with such an expression as — “ Now, Aunt, look at me — 
and you, Charlotte — is not that shocking to your weak nerves,” 
when some adroit feat would be repeated, which, however, 
seemed to give much more pleasure to Paula herself in perform- 
ing it than to Mrs. Goodman in looking on, the latter some- 
times saying, “ Oh, it is terrific — do not run such a risk 
again 1 ” 

It would have demanded the poetic passion of some joyous 
Elizabethan lyrist like Lodge, Nash, or Constable, to fitly phrase 
Paula’s presentation of herself at this moment of absolute aban- 
donment to every muscular whim that could take possession of 
such a supple form. The white manilla ropes clung about the 
performer like snakes as she took her exercise, and the colour 
in her face deepened as she went on. Captain De Stancy felt 
that, much as he had seen in early life of beauty in woman, he 
had never seen beauty of such a real and living sort as this. A 
bitter recollection of his vow, together with a sense that to gaze 
the festival of this Bona Dea was, though so pretty a sight, 


DARE AND HA VILE . 


153 


hardly fair or gentlemanly, would have compelled him to with- 
draw his eyes, had not the sportive fascination of her appear- 
ance glued them there in spite of all. And as if to complete 
the picture of Grace personified and add the one thing wanting 
to the charm which bound him, the clouds, till that time thick 
in the sky, broke away from the upper heaven, and allowed the 
noonday sun to pour down through the lantern upon her, 
irradiating her with a warm light that was incarnadined by hei 
pink doublet and hose, and reflected in upon her face. She 
only required a cloud to rest on instead of the green silk net 
which actually supported her reclining figure for the moment, to 
be quite Olympian ; save indeed that in place of haughty 
effrontery there sat on her countenance only the healthful 
sprightliness of an English girl. 

Dare had withdrawn to a point at which another path crossed 
the path occupied by De Stancy. Looking in a side direction, 
he saw Havill idling slowly up to him over the silent grass. 
Havill’s knowledge of the appointment had brought him out to 
see what would come of it. When he neared Dare, but was 
still partially hidden by the boughs from the third of the party, 
the former simply pointed to De Stancy, upon which Havill 
stood and peeped at him. “ Is she within there ? ” he inquired. 

Dare nodded, and whispered, “ You need not have asked, if 
you had examined his face ” 

“ That’s true.” 

“ A fermentation is beginning in him,” said Dare, half-piti- 
fully ; “ a purely chemical process ; and when it is complete 
he will probably be clear, and fiery, and sparkling, and quite 
another man than the good, weak, easy fellow that he was.” 

To precisely describe Captain De Stancy’s look was impossi- 
ble. A sun rising in his face, such was somewhat the effect. 
By watching him they could almost see the aspect of her within 
the wall, so accurately were her changing phases reflected in 
him. He seemed to forget that he was not alone. 

“And is this,” he murmured, in the manner of one only half 
apprehending himself, “ and is this the end of my vow ? ” 

Paula was saying at this moment, “Ariel sleeps in this 
posture, does he not, Auntie ? ” Suiting the action to the word 
she flung out her arms behind her head as she lay in the green 
silk hammock, idly closed her pink eyelids, and swung hersell 
to and fro. 




A LAODICEAN 


BOOK THE THIRD. 

DE STANCY. 


CHAPTER I. 

Captain De Stancy was a changed man. A hitherto well- 
repressed energy was giving him motion towards long-shunned 
consequences. His features were, indeed, to cursory observa- 
tion, much the same as before ; though, had a physiognomist 
chosen to study them with the closeness of an astronomer 
scanning the universe, he would doubtless have discerned 
abundant novelty. 

In recent years De Stancy had been an easy, melancholy, 
unaspiring officer, enervated and depressed by a parental 
affection quite beyond his control for the graceless lad Dare — 
the obtrusive memento of a shadowy period in De Stancy’s 
youth, who threatened to be the curse of his old age. Through- 
out a long space he had persevered in his system of rigidly 
incarcerating within himself all instincts towards the opposite 
sex, with a resolution that would not have disgraced a much 
stronger man. By this habit, maintained with fair success, a 
chamber of his nature had been preserved intact during many 
later years, like the one solitary sealed-up cell occasionally 
retained by bees in a lobe of drained honey-comb. And thus, 
though he had irretrievably exhausted the relish of society, of 
ambition, of action, and of his profession, the love-force that 
he had kept immured alive was still a reproducible thing. 

The sight of Paula in the gymnasium, which the judicious 
Dare had so carefully planned, led up to and heightened by 
subtle accessories, operated on De Stancy’s surprised soul with 
a promptness almost magical. 

On the evening of the self-same day, having dined as usual, he 
retired to his rooms, where he found a hamper of wine awaiting 
him. It had been anonymously sent, and the account was paid. 


DE STANCY. 


155 


He smiled grimly, but no longer with heaviness. In this he in- 
stantly recognised the handiwork 6f Dare, who, having at last 
broken down the barrier which De Stancy had erected round his 
heart for so many years, acted like a skilled strategist, and took 
swift measures to follow up the advantage so tardily gained. 

Captain De Stancy knew himself conquered : he knew he 
should yield to Paula — had indeed yielded; but there was 
now, in his solitude, an hour or two of reaction. He did not 
drink from the bottles sent. He went early to bed, and lay 
tossing thereon till far into the night, thinking over the collapse. 
His teetotalism had, with the lapse of years, unconsciously 
become the outward and visible sign to himself of his secret 
vows ; and a return to its opposite, however mildly done, 
signified with ceremonious distinctness the formal acceptance 
of delectations long forsworn. 

But the exceeding freshness of his feeling for Paula, which 
by reason of its long arrest was that of a man far under thirty, 
and was a wonder to himself every instant, would not long 
brook weighing in balances. He wished suddenly to commit 
himself ; to remove the question of retreat out of the region of 
debate. The clock struck two : and the wish became deter- 
mination. He arose, and wrapping himself in his dressing- 
gown w^ent to the next room, where he took from a shelf in the 
pantry several large bottles, which he carried to the window, 
till they stood on the sill a goodly row. There had been 
sufficient light in the room for him to do this without a candle. 
Now he softly opened the sash, and the radiance of a gibbous 
moon riding in the opposite sky flooded the apartment. It 
fell on the labels of the captain’s bottles, revealing their contents 
to be simple aerated waters for drinking. 

De Stancy looked out and listened. The guns that stood 
drawn up within the yard glistened in the moonlight reaching 
them from over the barrack- wall : there was an occasional 
stamp of horses in the stables ; also a measured tread of 
sentinels — one or more at the gates, one at the hospital, one 
between the wings, two at the magazine, and others further off. 
Recurring to his intention he drew the corks of the mineral 
waters, and inverting each bottle one by one over the window- 
sill, heard its contents dribble in a small stream on to the 
gravel below. 

He then opened the hamper which Dare had sent. Un- 
Vol 7 (F) 


A LAODICEAN . 


150 

corking one of the bottles he murmured, “To Paula! "and 
drank a glass of the ruby liquor. 

“ A man again after eighteen years,” he said, shutting the 
sash and returning to his bedroom. 

The first overt result of his kindled interest in Miss Power 
was his saying to his sister the day after the surreptitious sight 
of Paula: “ I am sorry, Charlotte, for a word or two I said the 
other day.” 

“Well?” 

“ I was rather disrespectful to your friend Miss Power.” 

“ I don’t think so — were you ? ” 

“ Yes. When we were walking in the wood, I made a 
stupid joke about her. . . . What does she know about me— 
do you ever speak of me to her ? ” 

“ Only in general terms.” 

“ What general terms ? ” 

“ You know well enough, William ; of your idiosyncrasies 
and so on — that you are a bit of a woman-hater, or at least a 
confirmed bachelor, and have but little respect for your own 
family.” 

“ I wish you had not told her that,” said De Stancy with 
dissatisfaction. 

“ But I thought you always liked women to kn^w your 
principles ! ” said Charlotte, in injured tones ; “ and would 
particularly like her to know them, living so near.” 

“Yes, yes,” replied her brother hastily. “ Well, I ought to 
see her, just to show her that I am not quite a brute.” 

“ That would be very nice ! ” she answered, putting her 
hands together in agreeable astonishment. “ It is just what I 
have wished, though I did not dream of suggesting it after 
what I have heard you say. I am going to stay with her again 
to-morrow, and I will let her know about this.” 

“ Don’t tell her anything plainly, for heaven’s sake. I really 
want to see the interior of the castle ; I have never entered its 
walls since my babyhood.” He raised his eyes as he spoke to 
where the walls in question showed their ashlar faces over the 
trees. 

“ You might have gone over it at any time.” 

“ Oh yes. It is only recently that I have thought much of 
the place : I feel now that I should like to examine the old 
building thoroughly, since it was for so many generations 


DE STANCY. 




associated with our fortunes, especially as most of the old 
furniture is still there. My sedulous avoidance hitherto of 
all relating to our family vicissitudes has been, I own, stupid 
conduct for an intelligent being; but impossible grapes are 
always sour, and I have unconsciously adopted Radical notions 
to obliterate disappointed hereditary instincts. But these have 
a trick ol re-establishing themselves as one gets older, and the 
castle and what it contains have a keen interest for me now.” 

“ It contains Paula,” 

De Stancy’s pulse, which had been beating languidly for 
many years, beat double at the sound of that name. 

“ I meant furniture and pictures for the moment,” he said ; 
“ but I don’t mind extending the meaning to her, if you wish it.” 

“ She is the rarest thing there.” 

“ So you have said before.” He might have added, “ but 
never with the present effect upon me.” 

“ The castle and our family history have as much romantic 
interest for her as they have for you,” Charlotte went on. 
“ She delights in visiting our tombs and effigies, and ponders 
over them for hours.” 

“ Indeed !” said De Stancy, allowing his surprise to hide the 
satisfaction which accompanied it. “ That should make us 
friendly. . . . Does she see many people ? ” 

“ Not many as yet. And she cannot have many staying 
there during the alterations.” 

“ Ah ! yes — the ;i Iterations. Didn’t you say that she has 
had a London architect stopping there on that account ? 
What was he — old or young?” 

“ He is a young man : he has been to our house. 1 Jon’t 
you remember you met him there ? ” 

“ What was his name ? ” 

“ Mr. Somerset.” 

“ Oh, that man ! Yes, yes, I remember Hullo, 

Lottie ! ” 

“ What ? ” 

“ Your face is as red as a peony. Now I know a secret ! ” 
Charlotte vainly endeavoured to hide her confusion. “ Very 
well, — not a word ! I won’t say more,” continued De Stancy, 
good-humouredly, “except that he seems to be a very nice 
fellow.” 

De Stancy had turned the dialogue on to this little well- 


i 5 8 


A LAODICEAN. 


preserved secret of his sister’s with sufficient outward lightness , 
but it had been done in instinctive concealment of the dis- 
quieting start with which he had recognised that Somerset, 
Dare’s enemy, whom he had intercepted in placing Dare's 
portrait into the hands of the chief constable, was a man lie- 
loved by his sister Charlotte. This novel circumstance might 
lead to a curious complication. But he was to hear more. 

“ He may be very nice,” replied Charlotte, with an effort, 
after this silence. “ But he is nothing to me, more than a 
very good friend.” 

“There’s no engagement, or thought of one between you?” 

“ Certainly there’s not ! ” said Charlotte, with brave em- 
phasis. “ It is more likely to be between Paula and him than 
me and him.” 

De Stancy’s bare military ears and closely cropped poll 
flushed hot. “ Miss Power and him ? ” 

“ I don’t mean to say there is, because Paula denies it; but 
I mean that he loves Paula. That I do know.” 

De Stancy was dumb. This item of news which Dare had 
kept from him, not knowing how far De Stancy’s sense of 
honour might extend, was decidedly grave. Indeed, he was 
so greatly impressed with the fact, that he could not help 
saying as much aloud : “ This is very serious ! ” 

“ Why ! ” she murmured tremblingly, for the first leaking 
out of her tender and sworn secret had disabled her quite. 

“Because I love Paula too.” 

“What do you say, William, you? — a woman you have 
never seen ? ” 

“ I have seen her — by accident. And now, my dear little 
sis, you will be my close ally, won’t you ? as I will be yours, as 
brother and sister should be.” He placed his arm coaxingly 
round Charlotte’s shoulder. 

“ Oh, William, how can I ? ” at last she stammered. 

“ Why, how can’t you ? I should say. We are both in the 
same ship. I love Paula, you love Mr. Somerset ; it behoves 
both of us to see that this flirtation of theirs ends in nothing.” 

“ I don’t like you to put it like that — that I love him — it 
frightens me,” murmured the girl, visibly agitated. “ I don’t want 
to divide him from Paula; I couldn’t, I wouldn’t do anything to 
separate them. Believe me, Will, I could not ! I am sorry you 
love there also, though I should be glad if it happened in the 


DE STANCY. 


*59 


natural order of events that she should come round to you. 
But I cannot do anything to part them and make Mr. Somerset 
suffer. It would be too wrong and blamable.” 

“ Now, you silly Charlotte, that’s just how you women tly 
off at a tangent. I mean nothing dishonourable in the least. 
Have I ever prompted you to do anything dishonourable ? 
Fair fighting allies was all I thought off.” 

Miss De Stancy breathed more freely. “ Yes, we will be that, 
of course ; we are always that, William. But I hope I can be 
your ally, and be quite neutral ; I would so much rather.” 

“ Well, I suppose it will not be a breach of your precious 
neutrality if you get me invited to see the castle?” 

u Oh no ! ” she said brightly ; “ I don’t mind doing such a 
thing as that. Why not come with me to-morrow ? I will 
say I am going to bring you. There will be no trouble at all.” 

De Stancy readily agreed. The instant effect upon him of 
the information now acquired was to intensify his ardour 
tenfold. 

The stimulus was no doubt partly due to a perception that 
Somerset, with a little more knowledge, would have in his 
hands a card which could be played with disastrous effect 
against himself. Were his relationship to Dare once discovered 
by Somerset, in the latter’s already manifested doubt of Dare’s 
personal character, he would, without question, be stimulated 
by the heat of rivalry to disclose that relationship instantly. 
Nay — and it added yet more excitement to this game to know 
it, though the pang was so much the greater — Dare’s character 
was of a kind to justify such an exposure by any man of 
common probity, without the stimulus of rivalry. And to a 
lady of such Puritan antecedents as Paula’s this would 
probably mean her- immediate severance from himself as an 
unclean thing. 

•Is Miss Power a severe pietist, or precisian; or is she a 
compromising lady ? ” he asked abruptly. 

“She is severe and uncompromising — if you mean in her 
judgments on morals,” said Charlotte, not quite hearing. The 
remark was peculiarly apposite, and De Stancy was silent. 

He spent some following hours in a close study of the castle 
history, which till now had unutterably bored him. More 
particularly did he dwell over documents and notes which 
referred to the pedigree of his own family. He wrote out the 


i6o 


A LAODICEAN. 


names of all — and they were many — who had been born 
within those domineering walls since their first erection ; of 
those among them who had been brought thither by marriage 
with the owner, and of stranger knights and gentlemen (fewer, 
yet more interesting in present circumstances) who had entered 
the castle by marriage with its mistress. He refreshed his 
memory on the strange loves and hates that had arisen in the 
course of the family history ; on memorable attacks, and the 
dates of the same, the most memorable among them being the 
occasion on which the party represented by Paula battered down 
the castle walls that she was now about to mend, and, as he 
hoped, return in their original intact shape to the family dis- 
possessed, by marriage with himself, its living representative. 

In Sir William’s villa were small engravings after many of 
the portraits in the castle galleries, some of them hanging in the 
dining-room in plain maple frames, and others preserved in 
portfohos. De Stancy spent much of his time over these, and 
in getting up the romances of their originals’ lives from 
memoirs and other records, all which stories were as great 
novelties to him as they could possibly be to any stranger. 
Most interesting to him was the life of an Edward De Stancy, 
who had lived just before the Civil Wars, and to whom Captain 
De Stancy bore a very traceable likeness. This ancestor had 
a mole on his cheek, black and distinct as a fly in cream ; and 
as in the case of the first Lord Amherst’s wart, and Ben net 
Earl of Arlington’s nose-scar, the painter had faithfully repro- 
duced the defect on canvas. It so happened that the captain 
had a mole, though not exactly on the same spot of his face ; 
and this made the resemblance still greater. 

He t )k infinite trouble with his dress that day, showing an 
amount of anxiety on the matter which for him was quite 
abnormal. At last, when fully equipped, he set out with his 
sister to make the call proposed. Charlotte was rather un- 
happy at sight of her brother’s earnest attempt to make an im- 
pression on Paula ; but she could say nothing against it, and 
they proceeded on their way. 

It was the darkest of November weather, when the days are 
so short that morning seems to join with evening without the 
intervention of noon. The sky was lined with low cloud, 
within whose dense substance tempests were slowly fermenting 
for the coming days. Even now a windy turbulence troubled 


DE STANCY. 


161 


the half-naked boughs, and a lonely leaf would occasionally 
spin downwards to rejoin on the grass the scathed multitude of 
its comrades which had preceded it in its fall. The river by 
the pavilion, in the summer so clear and purling, now slid 
onwards brown and thick and silent, and enlarged to double 
size. 


CHAPTER II. 

Meanwhile Paula was alone. Of any one else it would have 
been said that she must be finding the afternoon rather dreary 
in the vast halls not of her forefathers : but of Miss Power it was 
unsafe to predicate so surely. She walked from room to room 
in a black velvet dress which gave decision to her outline 
without depriving it of softness. She occasionally clasped her 
hands behind her head and looked out of a window; but she 
more particularly bent her footsteps up and down the Long 
Gallery, where she had caused a large fire of logs to be kindled, 
in her endeavour to extend cheerfulness somewhat beyond the 
precincts of the sitting-rooms. 

The fire glanced up on Paula, and Paula glanced down at 
the fire, and at the gnarled beech fuel, and at the wood-lice 
which ran out from beneath the bark to the extremity of the 
logs, as the heat approached them. The low-down ruddy light 
spread over the dark floor like the setting sun over a moor, 
fluttering on the grotesque countenances of the bright andirons, 
and touching all the furniture on the underside. 

She now and then crossed to one of the deep embrasures of 
the windows, to decipher some sentence from a letter she held 
in her hand. The daylight would have been more than suffi- 
cient for any bystander to discern that the capitals in that 
letter were of the peculiar semi-gothic type affected at the 
time by Somersel and other young architects of his school 
in their epistolary correspondence. She was very possibly 
thinking of him, even when not reading his letter, for the 
expression of softness with which she perused the page was 
more or less with her when she appeared to examine other 

tiHUgS. 


M 


162 


A LAODICEAN. 


She walked about for a little time longer, then put away the 
letter, looked at the clock, and thence returned to the windows, 
straining her eyes over the landscape without, as she murmured, 
“ I wish Charlotte was not so long coming ! ” 

As Charlotte continued to keep away, Paula became less 
reasonable in her desires, and proceeded to wish that Somerset 
would arrive ; then that anybody would come ; then, walking 
towards the portraits on the wall, she flippantly asked one of 
those cavaliers to oblige her fancy for company by stepping 
down from his frame. The temerity of the request led her to 
prudently withdraw it almost as soon as conceived : old paint- 
ings had been said to play queer tricks in extreme cases, and 
the shadows this afternoon were funereal enough for anything 
in the shape of revenge on an intruder who embodied the 
antagonistic modern spirit to such an extent as she. However, 
Paula still stood before the picture which had attracted her; 
and this, by a coincidence common enough in fact, though 
scarcely credited in chronicles, happened to be that one of the 
seventeenth-century portraits of which De Stancy had studied 
the engraved copy at Myrtle Villa the same morning. 

Whilst she remained before the picture, wondering her 
favourite wonder, how would she feel if this and its accompany- 
ing canvases were pictures of her own ancestors, she was 
surprised by a light footstep upon the carpet which covered 
part of the room, and turning quickly she beheld the smiling 
little figure of Charlotte De Stancy. 

“What has made you so late?” said Paula. “You are 
come to stay, of course ? ” 

Charlotte said she had come to stay. “ But I have brought 
somebody with me ! ” 

“ Ah — whom ? ” 

“My brother happened to be at home, and I have brought 
him.” 

Miss De Stacey’s brother had been so continuously absent 
from home in India, or elsewhere, so little spoken of, and, 
when spoken of, so truly though unconsciously represented as 
one whose interests lay wholly outside this antiquated neigh- 
bourhood, that to Paula he had been a mere nebulosity whom 
she had never distinctly outlined. To have him thus cohere 
into substance at a moment’s notice lent him the novelty of a 
new creation. 


DE STANCY. 


163 


rt Is he in the drawing-room ? ” said Paula in a low voice. 

“No, he is here. He would follow me. I hope you will 
forgive him.” 

And then Paula saw emerge into the red beams of the 
dancing fire, from behind a half-drawn hanging which screened 
the door, the military gentleman whose acquaintance the 
reader has already made. 

“You know the house, doubtless, Captain De Stancy?” said 
Paula, somewhat shyly, when he had been presented to her. 

“ I have never seen the inside since I was three weeks old,” 
replied the artillery officer gracefully ; “ and hence my recol- 
lections of it are not remarkably distinct. A year or two before 
[ was born the entail was cut off by my. father and grandfather ; 
so that I saw the venerable place only to lose it ; at least, I 
believe that’s the truth of the case. But my knowledge of the 
transaction is not profound, and it is a delicate point on which 
to question one’s father.” 

Paula assented, and looked at the interesting and noble 
figure of the man whose parents had seemingly righted them- 
selves at the expense of wronging him. 

“ The pictures and furniture were sold about the same time, 
I think ? ” said Charlotte. 

“Yes,” murmured De Stancy. “They went in a mad 
bargain of my father with his visitor, as they sat over their 
wine. My father sat down as host on that occasion, and arose 
as guest.” 

He seemed to speak with such a courteous absence of 
regret for the alienation, that Paula, who was always fearing 
that the recollection would rise as a painful shadow between 
herself and the De Stancys, felt reassured by his magnanimity. 

De Stancy looked with interest round the gallery; seeing 
which Paula said she would have lights brought in a moment. 

“ No, please not,” said De Stancy. “ The room and our- 
selves are of so much more interesting a colour by this 
light!” 

As they moved hither and thither, the various expressions of 
De Stancy’s face made themselves picturesquely visible in the 
unsteady shine of the blaze. In a short time he had drawn 
near to the painting of the ancestor whom he so greatly re- 
sembled. When her quick eye noted the speck on the face, 
indicative of inherited traits strongly pronounced, a new and 

M 2 


6 4 


A LAODICEAN . 


romantic feeling that the De Stancys had stretched out a 
tentacle from their genealogical tree to seize her by the hand 
and draw her in to their mass took possession of Paula. As 
has been said, the De Stancys were a family on whom the 
hall-mark of membership was deeply stamped, and by the 
present light the representative under the portrait and the re- 
presentative in the portrait seemed beings not far removed. 
Paula was continually starting from a reverie and speaking 
irrelevantly, as if such reflections as those seized hold of her in 
spite of her natural unconcern. 

When candles were brought in Captain De Stancy ardently 
contrived to make the pictures the theme of conversation. 
From the nearest they went to the next, whereupon Paula 
as hostess took up one of the candlesticks and held it aloft 
to light up the painting'. The candlestick being tall and 
heavy, De Stancy relieved her of it, and taking another candle 
in the other hand, he imperceptibly slid into the position of ex- 
hibitor rather than spectator. Thus he walked in advance, 
holding the two candles on high, his shadow forming a gigantic 
figure on the neighbouring wall, while he recited the particulars 
of family history pertaining to each portrait, that he had learnt 
up with such eager persistence during the previous four-and- 
twenty-hours. 

“ I have often wondered what could have been the history 
of this lady, but nobody has ever been able to tell me,” Paula 
observed, pointing to a Vandyck which represented a beautiful 
woman wearing curls across her forehead, a square-cut bodice, 
and a heavy pearl necklace upon the smooth expanse of her 
neck. 

“ I don’t think anybody knows,” Charlotte said. 

“ Oh yes,” replied her brother promptly, seeing with en- 
thusiasm that it was yet another opportunity for making capital 
of his acquired knowledge, with which he felt himself as incon- 
veniently crammed as a candidate for a government exami- 
nation. “ That lady has been largely celebrated under a fancy 
name, though she is comparatively little known by her own. 
Her parents were the chief ornaments of the almost irreproach- 
able court of Charles the First, and were not more distinguished 
by their politeness and honour than by the affections and 
virtues which constitute the great charm of private life.” 

The stock verbiage of the family memoir was somewhat 


DE STANCY. 


165 


apparent in this effusion ; but it much impressed his listeners ; 
and he went on to point out that from the lady’s necklace was 
suspended a heart-shaped portrait — that of the man who 
broke his heart by her persistent refusal to encourage his suit. 
De Stancy then led them a little further, where hung a portrait 
of the lover, one of his own family, who appeared in full 
panoply of plate mail, the pommel of his sword standing up 
under his elbow. The gallant captain then related how this 
personage of his line wooed the lady fruitlessly ; how, after her 
marriage with another, she and her husband visited the parents 
of the disappointed lover, the then occupiers of the castle ■ 
how, in a fit of desperation at the sight of her, he retired to 
his room, where he composed some passionate verses, which 
he wrote with his blood, and after directing them to her ran 
himself through the body with his sword. Too late the lady’s 
heart was touched by his devotion ; she was ever after a 
melancholy woman, and wore his portrait despite her husband’s 
prohibition. “ This,” continued De Stancy, leading them 
through the doorway into the hall where the coats of mail were 
arranged along the wall, and stopping opposite a suit which 
bore some resemblance to that of the portrait, “this is his 
armour, as you will perceive by comparing it with the picture, 
and this is the sword with which he did the rash deed.” 

“ What unreasonable devotion ! ” said Paula practically. 
“ It was too romantic of him. She was not worthy of such a 
sacrifice.” 

“ He also is one whom they say you resemble a little in 
feature, I think,” said Charlotte. 

“ Do they ? ” replied De Stancy. “ I wonder if it’s true.” 
He set down the candles, and asking the girls to withdraw for 
a moment, was inside the upper part of the suit of armour in 
incredibly quick time. Going then and placing himself in 
front of a low-hanging painting near the original, so as to be 
enclosed by the frame while covering the figure, arranging the 
sword as in the one above, and setting the light that it might 
fall in the right direction, he recalled them ; when he put the 
question, “ Is the resemblance strong ? ” 

He looked so much like a man of bygone times that neither 
of them replied, but remained curiously gazing at him. His 
modern and comparatively sallow complexion, as seen through 
the open visor, lent an ethereal ideality to his appearance 


LAODICEAN. 


1 66 A 

which the time-stained countenance of the original warrior 
totally lacked. 

At last Paula spoke, so stilly that she seemed a statue 
enunciating : “ Are the verses known that he wrote with his 
blood?” 

“ Oh yes, they have been carefully preserved.” Captain De 
Stancy, with true wooer’s instinct, had committed some of 
them to memory that morning from the printed copy. “ I 
fear I don’t remember them all,” he said, “ but they begin in 
this way : 

‘ From one that dyeth in his discontent, 

Dear Faire, receive this greeting to thee sent ; 

And still as oft as it is read by thee, 

Then, with some deep sad sigh remember mee ! 

O ’twas niy fortune’s error to vow dutie. 

To one that bears defiance in her beautie ! 

Sweete poyson, pretious wooe, infectious jewell— 

Such is a Ladie that is faire and cruell. 

How well could I with ayre, camelion- like, 

Live happie, and still gazeing on thy cheeke, 

In which, forsaken man, meethink I see 
How goodlie love doth threaten cares to mee. 

Why dost thou frowne thus on a kneelinge soule, 

Whose faultes in love thou may’st as well controule ? — 

In love — but O, that word ; that word I feare 
Is hatefull still both to thy hart and eare ! 

***** # 

Ladie, in breefe, my fate doth now intend 
The period of my daies to have an end : 

Waste not on mee thy pittie, pretious Faire : 

Rest you in much content ; I, in despaire ! ’ ” 

A solemn silence followed the close of the recital, which De 
Stancy improved by turning the point of the sword to his 
breast, resting the pommel upon the floor, and saying : 

“ After writing that we may picture him turning this same 
sword in this same way, and falling on it thus.” He inclined 
his body forward as he spoke. 

“ Don’t, Captain De Stancy, please don’t I ” cried Paula, 
involuntarily. 


DE STANCY. 167 

“No, don’t show us any further, William!” said his sister. 
“ It is too tragic.” 

De Stancy put away the sword, himself rather excited — not, 
however, by his own recital, but by the direct gaze of Paula 
at him. 

This Protean quality of De Stancy’s, by means of which he 
could assume the shape and situation of almost any ancestor at 
will, had impressed her, and he perceived it with a throb of 
fervour. But it had done no more than impress her; for 
though in delivering the lines he had so fixed his look upon 
her as to suggest, to any maiden practised in the game of the 
eyes, a present significance in the words, the idea of any such 
arriere-pensee had by no means commended itself to her 
soul. 

At this time a messenger from Markton barracks arrived at 
the castle and wished to speak to Captain De Stancy in the 
hall. Begging the two ladies to excuse him for a moment, the 
captain went out. 

While De Stancy was talking in the twilight to the messenger 
at one end of the apartment, some other arrival was shown in 
by the side door, and in making his way after the conference 
across the hall to the room he had previously quitted, De 
Stancy encountered the new-comer. There was just enough 
light to reveal the countenance to be Dare’s ; he bore a port- 
folio under his arm, and had begun to wear a moustache, in 
case the chief constable should meet him anywhere in his 
rambles, and be struck by his resemblance to the man in the 
studio. 

“What the devil are you doing here?” said Captain De 
Stancy, in tones he had never used before to the young man. 

Dare started back in surprise, and naturally so. De Stancy, 
having adopted a new system of living, and relinquished the 
meagre diet and enervating waters of his past years, was 
rapidly recovering tone. His voice was firmer, his cheeks 
were less pallid ; and above all he was authoritative towards 
his present companion, whose ingenuity in vamping up a 
Frankenstein for his ambitious experiments seemed likely to 
be rewarded by his discomfiture at the hands of his own 
creature. 

“ What the devil are you doing here, I say?” repeated De 
Stancy. 


1 68 


A LAODICEAN. 


“You can talk to me like that, after my working so hard to 
get you on in life, and make a rising man of you ! ” expostu- 
lated Dare, like one who felt himself no longer the protagonist 
in this enterprise. 

“ But,” said the captain less harshly, “ if you let them dis- 
cover any relations between us here, you will ruin the fairest 
prospects man ever had ! ” 

“ Oh, I like that, captain — when you owe all of it to 
me!” 

“ That’s too cool, Will.” 

“No; what I say is true. However let that go. So now 
you are here on a call ; but how are you going to get here 
often enough to win her before the other man comes back ? 
If you don’t see her every day — twice, three times a day — you 
will not capture her in the time.” 

“ I must think of that,” said De Stancy. 

“ There is only one way of being constantly here : you must 
come ta copy the pictures or furniture, something in the way 
he did.” 

“ I’ll think of it,” muttered De Stancy, hastily, as he heard 
the voices of the ladies, whom he hastened to join as they were 
appearing at the other end of the room. His countenance was 
gloomy as he recrossed the hall, for Dare’s words on the short- 
ness of his opportunities had impressed him. Almost at once 
he uttered a hope to Paula that he might have further chance 
of studying, and if possible of copying, some of the ancestral 
faces with which the building abounded. 

Meanwhile Dare had come forward with his portfolio, which 
proved to be full of photographs. While Paula and Charlotte 
were examining them he said to De Stancy, as a stranger : 
“ Excuse my interruption, sir, but if you should think of copy- 
ing any of the portraits, as you were stating just now to the 
ladies, my patent photographic process is at your service, and 
is, I believe, the only one which would be effectual in the dim 
indoor lights.” 

“ It is just what I was thinking of,” said De Stancy, now so 
far cooled down from his irritation as to be quite ready to 
accept Dare’s adroitly suggested scheme for frequenting Paula’s 
halls. 

On application to Paula she immediately gave De Stancy 
permission to photograph to any extent, and told Dare he might 


DE STANCV. 169 

bring his instruments as soon as Captain De Stancy required 
them. 

“ Don’t stare at her in such a brazen way ! ” whispered that 
officer to the young man, when Paula had withdrawn a few 
steps. “ Say, ‘ I shall highly value the privilege of assisting 
Captain De Stancy in such a work.’ ” 

Dare obeyed, and before leaving De Stancy arranged to 
begin performing on his venerated forefathers the next morning, 
the youth so accidentally engaged agreeing to be there at the 
same time to assist in the technical operations. 


CHAPTER III. 

As he had promised, De Stancy made use the next day of the 
coveted permission that had been brought about by the 
ingenious Dare. Dare’s second timely suggestion of tendering 
assistance himself had the practical result of relieving the 
other of all necessity for occupying his time with the proceed- 
ing, further than to bestow a perfunctory superintendence now 
and then, to give a colour to his regular presence in the for- 
tress, the actual work of taking copies being carried on by the 
younger man. 

The weather was frequently wet during these operations, and 
Paula, Miss De Stancy, and her brother, were often in the 
house whole mornings together. By constant urging and 
coaxing the latter would induce his gentle sister, much against 
her conscience, to leave him opportunities for speaking to 
Paula alone. It was mostly before some print or painting that 
these conversations occurred, while De Stancy was ostensibly 
occupied with its merits, or in giving directions to his photo- 
grapher how to proceed. As soon as the dialogue began, the 
latter would withdraw out of earshot, leaving Paula to imagine 
him the most deferential young artist in the world. 

“ You will soon possess duplicates of the whole gallery,” 
she said on one of these occasions, examining some curled 
sheets which Dare had printed off from the negatives. 

« No,” said the soldier. “ I shall not have patience to 


170 


A LAODICEAN. 


go on. I get ill-humoured and indifferent, and then leave 
off.” 

“ Why ill-humoured ? ” 

“ I scarcely know — more than that I acquire a general sense 
of my own family’s want of merit through seeing how 
meritorious the people are around me. I see them happy and 
thriving without any necessity for me at all ; and then I regard 
these canvas grandfathers and grandmothers, and ask, “ Why 
was a line so antiquated and out of date prolonged till now ? ” 

She chid him good-naturedly for such views. “ They will 
do you an injury,” she declared. “ Do spare yourself, Captain 
De Stancy ! ” 

De Stancy shook his head as he turned the painting before 
him a little further to the light. 

“ But, do you know,” said Paula, “ that notion of yours of 
being a family out of date is delightful to some people. I talk 
to Charlotte about it often. I am never weary of examining those 
canopied effigies in the church, and almost wish they were 
those of my relations.” 

“ I will try to see things in the same light for your sake,” 
said De Stancy, fervently. 

“ Not for my sake ; for you own was what I meant, of course,” 
she replied, with a repressive air. 

Captain De Stancy bowed. 

“ What are you going to do with your photographs when you 
have them ? ” she asked, as if still anxious to obliterate the 
previous sentimental lapse. 

“ I shall put them into a large album, and carry them with 
me in my campaigns ; and may I ask, now I have an op- 
portunity, that you would extend your permission to copy a 
little further, and let me photograph one other painting that 
hangs in the castle, to fittingly complete my set ? ” 

“Which ?” 

“ That half-length of a lady which hangs in the morning- 
room. I remember seeing it in the Academy last year.” 

Paula involuntarily closed herself up. The picture was her 
own portrait. “ It does not belong to your series,” she said 
somewhat coldly. 

De Stancy’s secret thought was, I hope from my soul it will 
belong some day ! He answered with mildness: “ There is a 
oort of connection — you are my sister’s friend.” 


DE STANCV. 


*71 


Paula assented. ' 

“And hence, might not your friend’s brother photogrnph 
your picture ? ” 

Paula demurred. 

A gentle sigh rose from the bosom of De Stancy. “ What 
is to become of me ? ” he said, with a light distressed laugh. 
“ I am always inconsiderate and inclined to ask too much. 
Forgive me ! What was in my mind when I asked I dare not 
say.” 

“ I quite understand your interest in your family pictures — 
and all of it,” she remarked more gently, willing not to hurt 
the sensitive feelings of a man so full of romance. 

“ And in that one ! ” he said, looking devotedly at her. “If 
I had only been fortunate enough to include it with the rest, 
my album would indeed have been a treasure to pore over by 
the bivouac fire ! ” 

“ Oh, Captain De Stancy, this is provoking perseverance ! ” 
cried Paula, laughing half-crossly. “ I expected that after 
expressing my decision so plainly the first time I should not 
have been further urged upon the subject.” Saying which she 
turned and moved decisively away. 

It had not been a productive meeting, thus far. “ One 
word ! ” said De Stancy, following and almost dropping on one 
knee. “ I have given offence, I know ; but do let it all fall on 
my own head — don’t tell my sister of my misbehaviour ! She 
loves you deeply, and it would wound her to the heart.” 

“ You deserve to be told upon,” said Paula as she withdrew, 
with just enough playfulness to show that her anger was not too 
serious. 

Charlotte looked at Paula uneasily when the latter joined 
her in the drawing-room. She wanted to say, “ What is the 
matter ? ” but guessing that her brother had something to do 
with it, forbore to speak at first. But she could not contain 
her anxiety long. “ Were you talking with my brother ? ” she 
said. 

“ Yes,” returned Paula, with reservation. However she 
soon added, “ he not only wants to photograph his ancestors, 
but my portrait too. They are a dreadfully encroaching sex, 
and perhaps being in the army makes them worse ! ” 

“ I’ll give him a hint, and tell him to be careful.” 

“ Don’t say 1 have definitely complained of him ; it is not 


172 


A LAODICEAN . 


worth while to do that ; the matter is too trifling for repetition. 
Upon the whole, Charlotte, I would rather you said nothing at 
all.” 

De Stancy’s hobby of photographing his ancestors seemed 
to become a perfect mania with him. Almost every morning 
discovered him in the larger apartments of the castle, taking 
down and rehanging the dilapidated pictures, with the assistance 
of the indispensable Dare ; his fingers stained black with dust, 
and his face expressing a busy attention to the work in hand, 
though always reserving a look askance for the presence of 
Paula. 

Thus much must be said for Captain De Stancy ; that though 
there was something of subterfuge, there was no double subter- 
fuge in all this. It is true that he took no particular interest in 
his ancestral portraits ; but he was enamoured of Paula to 
weakness. Perhaps the composition of his love would hardly 
bear looking into, but it was recklessly frank and not quite 
mercenary. His photographic scheme was nothing worse than 
a lover’s not too scrupulous contrivance. After the refusal of 
his request to copy her picture he fumed and fretted at the 
prospect of Somerset’s return before any impression had been 
made on her heart by himself ; he swore at Dare, and asked him 
hotly why he had dragged him into such a hopeless dilemma as 
this. 

“ Hopeless ? Somerset must still be kept away, so that it is 
not hopeless. I will consider how to prolong his stay.” 

Thereupon Dare considered. 

The time was coming — had indeed come — when it was 
necessary for Paula to make up her mind about her architect, 
if she meant to begin building in the spring. The two sets of 
plans, Somerset’s and Havill’s, were hanging on the walls of 
the room that had been used by Somerset as his studio, and 
were accessible by anybody. Dare took occasion to go and 
study both sets, with a view to finding a flaw in Somerset’s 
which might have been passed over unnoticed by the committee 
of architects, owing to their absence from the actual site. 
But not a blunder could he find. 

He next went to Havill ; and here he was met by an amazing 
state of affairs. Havill’s creditors, at last suspecting something 
mythical in Havill’s assurance that the grand commission was 
his, had lost all patience ; his house was turned upside-down, 


DE STANCY. 


173 


and a poster gleamed on the front wall, stating that the 
excellent modem household furniture was to be sold by auction 
on Friday next. As an illustration of the truism that troubles 
come in battalions, Dare was informed by a bystander that 
Havill’s wife was seriously ill also. 

Without staying for a moment to enter his friend’s house, back 
went Mr. Dare to the castle, and told Captain De Stancy of 
the architect’s desperate circumstances, begging him to convey 
the news in some way to Miss Power. Though Dare’s object in 
making this request was purely to bring about that which 
actually resulted from it, De Stancy, being a simpler character, 
promised to make representations in the proper quarter without 
perceiving that he was doing the best possible deed for himself 
thereby. 

De Stancy told Paula of Havill’s misfortunes in the presence 
of his sister, who turned pale. With a woman’s quickness 
she had discerned how this misfortune would bear upon the 
undecided competition. 

“ Poor man,” murmured Paula. “ He was my father’s 
architect, and somehow expected, though I did not promise 
it, the work of rebuilding the castle.” 

Then De Stancy saw Dare’s aim, and, seeing it, concurred : 
Somerset was his rival, and all was fair. “ And is he not to 
have the work of the castle after expecting it ? ” he asked with 
simplicity of tone. 

Paula was lost in reflection. “ The other architect’s design 
and Mr. Havill’s are exactly equal in merit, and we cannot 
decide how to give it to either, 1 ’ explained Charlotte. 

“ That is our difficulty,” Paula murmured. “ A bankrupt, 
and his wife ill — dear me ! I wonder what’s the cause.” 

“ He has borrowed on the expectation of having to execute 
the castle works, and now he is unable to meet his liabilities.” 

“ It is very sad,” said Paula. 

“ Let me suggest a remedy for this dead-lock,” said De 
Stancy. 

“ Do,” said Paula. 

“ Do the work of building in two halves or sections. Give 
Havill the first half, since he is in need ; when that is finished 
the second half can be given to your London architect. If, as 
I understand, the plans are identical except in ornamental 
details, there will be no difficulty about it at all.” 


174 


A LAODICEAN. 


Paula sighed— just a little one; and yet the suggestion 
seemed to satisfy her by its reasonableness. She turned sad, 
wayward, and yet was impressed by De Stancy’s manner and 
words. She appeared indeed to have a smouldering desire to 
please him. In the afternoon she said to Charlotte, “I mean 
to do as your brother says.” 

A note was despatched to Havill that very day, and in an 
hour the crestfallen architect presented himself at the castle. 
Paula instantly gave him audience, commiserated him, and 
commissioned him to carry out a first section of the buildings, 
comprising work to the extent of about twenty thousand pounds 
expenditure ; and then, with a prematureness quite phenomenal 
among architects’ clients, she handed him over a cheque for 
five hundred pounds on account. 

When he had gone, Paula’s bearing showed some sign of her 
being disquieted at what she had done ; but she covered her 
mood under a cloak of saucy serenity. Perhaps a tender 
remembrance of a certain thunderstorm in the foregoing August 
when she stood with Somerset in the arbour, and did not own 
that she loved him, was pressing on her memory, and bewildering 
her. She had not seen quite clearly, in adopting De Stancy’s 
suggestion, that Somerset would now have no professional 
reason for being at the castle for the next twelve months. 

But the captain had, and when Havill entered the castle he 
rejoiced with great joy. Dare, too, rejoiced in his cold way, 
and went on with his photography, saying, “The game pro- 
gresses, captain.” 

“ Game ? Call it Divine Comedy, rather ! ” said the captain, 
exultingly. 

“ He is practically banished for a year or more. What can’t 
you do in a year, captain ! ” 

Havill, in the meantime, having respectfully withdrawn from 
the presence of Paula, passed by Dare and De Stancy in the 
gallery as he had done in entering. He spoke a few words to 
Dare, who congratulated him. While they w^ere talking somebody 
was heard in the hall, inquiring hastily for Mr. Havill. 

“ What shall I tell him ? ” demanded the porter. 

“ His wife is dead,” said the messenger. 

Havill overheard the words, and hastened away. 

“ An unlucky man ! ” said Dare. 

1 Thai, happily for us, will not affect his installation here,” 


DE STANCY. 


175 

said De Stancy. “Now hold your tongue and keep at a 
distance. She may come this way.” 

Surely enough in a few minutes she came. Ue Stancy, to 
make conversation, told her of the new misfortune which had 
just befallen Mr. Havill. 

Paula was very sorry to hear it, and remarked that it gave 
her great satisfaction to have appointed him as architect of the 
first wing before he learnt the bad news. “ I owe you best 
thanks, Captain De Stancy, for showing me such an expedient.” 

“ Do I really deserve thanks ? ” asked De Stancy with a 
meditative smile upon her. “ I wish I deserved a reward ; but 
I must bear in mind the fable of the priest and the jester.” 

“ I never heard it.” 

“ The jester implored the priest for alms, but the smallest 
sum was refused, though the holy man readily agreed to give 
him his blessing. Query, its value ? ” 

How does it apply ? ” 

“You give me unlimited thanks, but deny me the tiniest 
substantial trifle I desire.” 

“ What persistence ! ” exclaimed Paula, colouring. “ Very 
well, if you will photograph my picture you must. It is really 
not worthy further pleading. Take it when you like.” 

When Paula was alone she seemed vexed with herself for 
having given way ; and rising from her seat she went quietly to 
the door of the room containing the picture, intending to lock it 
up till further consideration, whatever he might think of her. 
But on casting her eyes round the apartment the painting was 
gone. The captain, wisely taking the current when it served, 
already had it in the gallery, where he was to be seen bending 
attentively over it, arranging the lights and directing Dare with 
the instruments. On leaving he thanked her, and said that he 
had obtained a splendid copy. Would she look at it ? 

Paula was severe and icy. “Thank you — I don’t wish to 
see it,” she said. 

De Stancy bowed with civil reserve, and departed in a glow 
of triumph ; satisfied, notwithstanding her frigidity, that he had 
compassed his immediate aim, which was that she might not be 
able to dismiss from her thoughts him and his persevering 
desire for the shadow of her face during the next four-and- 
twenty-hours. And his confidence was well founded : she 
could not. 


176 


A LAODICEAN , . 


“ I fear this Divine Comedy will be a slow business for us, 
captain/’ said Dare, who had heard her cold words. 

“ Oh no ! ” said De Stancy, flushing a little : he had not 
been perceiving that the lad had the measure of his mind so 
entirely as to gauge his position at any moment. But he 
would show no shamefacedness. “ Even if it is, my boy,” 
he answered, u there’s plenty of time before the other can 
come.” 

At that hour and minute of De Stancy’s remark “ the other,” 
to look at him, seemed indeed securely shelved. He was 
sitting lonely in his chambers far away, wondering why she did 
not write, and yet hoping to hear — wondering if it had all been 
but a short-lived strain of tenderness. He knew as well as if it 
had been stated in words that her serious acceptance of him as 
a suitor would be her acceptance of him as an architect — that 
her schemes in love would be expressed in terms of art ; and 
conversely that her refusal of him as a lover would be neatly 
effected by her choosing Iiavill’s plans for the castle, and re- 
turning his own with thanks. The position was so clear : he 
was so well walled in by circumstances that he was absolutely 
helpless. 

To wait for the line that would not come — the letter saying 
that, as she had desired, his was the design that pleased her — 
was still the only thing to do. The (to Somerset) surprising 
accident that the committee of architects should have pro- 
nounced the designs absolutely equal in point of merit, and 
thus have caused the final choice to revert after all to Paula, 
had been a joyous thing to him when he first heard of it, full of 
confidence in her favour. But the fact of her having again 
become the arbitrator, though it had made acceptance of his 
plans all the more probable, made refusal of them, should it 
happen, all the more crushing. He could have conceived 
himself favoured by Paula as her lover, even had the committee 
decided in favour of Havill as her architect. But not to be chosen 
as architect now was to be rejected in both kinds. 


DE STANCY. 


177 


CHAPTER IV. 

It was the Sunday following tne tuneral of Mrs. Havill, news o' 
whose death had been so unexpectedly brought to her husband 
at the moment of his exit from Stancy Castle. The minister, 
as was his custom, improved the occasion by a couple of 
sermons on the uncertainty of life. One was preached in the 
morning in the old chapel of Markton ; the second at evening 
service in the little rural chapel near Stancy Castle, built by 
Paula’s father, which bore to the first somewhat the relation of 
an episcopal chapel-of-ease to the mother church. 

The unscreened lights blazed through the plate-glass windows 
of the smaller building and outshone the steely stars of the early 
night, just as they had done when Somerset was attracted by 
their glare four months before. The fervid minister’s rhetoric 
equalled its force on that more romantic occasion : but Paula 
was not there. She was not a frequent attendant now at her 
father’s votive building. The mysterious tank, whose dark waters 
had so repelled her at the last moment, was boarded over: 
a table stood on its centre, with an open quarto Bible upon it ; 
behind which Havill, in a new suit of black, sat in a large chair. 
Havill held the office of deacon : and he had mechanically 
taken the deacon’s seat as usual to-night, in the face of the 
congregation, and under the nose of Mr. Woodwell. 

Mr. Woodwell was always glad of an opportunity. He was 
gifted with a burning natural eloquence, which though perhaps 
a little too freely employed in exciting the “ Wertherism of the 
uncultivated ” had in it genuine power. He was a master of that 
oratory which no limitation of knowledge can repress, and which 
no training can impart. The neighbouring rector could eclipse 
Woodwell’s scholarship, and the freethinker at the corner shop in 
Markton could demolish his logic ; but the Baptist could do in 
five minutes what neither of these had done in a lifetime ; he 
could move some of the hardest of men to tears. 

Thus it happened that, when the sermon was fairly under 
way, Havill began to feel himself in a trying position. It was 

N 


A LAODICEAN. 


not that he had bestowed much affection upon his deceased 
wife, irreproachable woman as she had been ; but the suddenness 
of her death had shaken his nerves, and Mr. Woodwell’s address 
on the uncertainty of life involved considerations of conduct on 
earth that bore with singular directness upon Havill’s un- 
principled manoeuvre for victory in the castle competition. 
He wished he had not been so inadvertent as to take his 
customary chair in the chapel. People who saw Havill’s agita- 
tion did not know that it was most largely owing to his sense 
of the fraud which had been practised on the unoffending 
Somerset : and when, unable longer to endure the torture 
of Woodwell’s words, he rose from his place and went into 
the chapel vestry, the preacher little thought that remorse 
for a contemptibly unfair act, rather than grief for a dead- 
wife, was the cause of the architect’s withdrawal. 

When Havill got into the open air his morbid excitement 
calmed down, but a sickening self- abhorrence for the proceed- 
ing instigated by Dare did not abate. To appropriate another 
man’s design was no more nor less than to embezzle his money 
or steal his goods. The intense reaction from his conduct of 
the past two or three months did not leave him when he reached 
his own house and observed where the handbills of the counter- 
manded sale had been torn down, as the result of the payment 
mnde in advance by Paula of money which should really have? 
been Somerset’s. 

The mood went on intensifying when he was in bed. He 
lay awake till the clock reached those still, small, ghastly hours 
when the vital fires burn at their lowest in the human frame, and 
death seizes more of his victims than in any other of the twenty 
four. Havill could bear it no longer ; he got a light, went down 
into his office and wrote the note subjoined. 

“ Madam, 

“ The recent death of my wife necessitates a consider- 
able change in my professional arrangements and plans with 
regard to the future. One of the chief results of the change is, 
I regret to state, that I no longer find myself in a position to 
carry out the enlargement of the castle which you had so 
generously entrusted to my hands. 

“ I beg leave therefore to resign all further connection with 
the same, and to express, if you will allow me, a hope that the 


DE STANCY. 


179 


commission may be placed in the hands of the other competitor 
Herewith is returned a cheque for one-half of the sum so kindly 
advanced in anticipation of the commission I should receive ; 
the other half, with which I had cleared off my immediate 
embarrassments before perceiving the necessity for this course, 
shall be returned to you as soon as some payments from other 
clients drop in. I beg to remain, Madam, your obedient 
servant, 

“ James Havill.” 

Havill would not trust himself till the morning to post this 
letter. He sealed it up, went out with it into the street, and 
walked through the sleeping town to the post office. At the 
mouth of the box he held the letter long. By dropping it, he 
was dropping at least two thousand five hundred pounds which, 
however obtained, were now securely his. It was a great deal 
to let go ; and there he stood till another wave of conscience 
bore in upon his soul the absolute nature of the theft, and made 
him shudder. The footsteps of a solitary policeman could be 
heard nearing him along the deserted street ; hesitation ended, 
and he let the letter go. 

When he awoke in the morning he thought over the circum- 
stances by the cheerful light of a low eastern sun. The horrors 
of the situation seemed much less formidable ; yet it cannot be 
said that he actually regretted his act. Later on he walked out, 
with the strange sense of being a man who, from one having a 
large professional undertaking in hand, had, by his own act, 
suddenly reduced himself to an unoccupied nondescript. 
From the upper end of the town he saw in the distance the 
grand grey towers of Stancy Castle looming over the 
leafless trees ; he felt stupefied at what he had done, and said 
to himself with bitter discontent : “ Well, well, what is more 
contemptible than a half-hearted rogue ! ” 

That morning the post bag had been brought to Paula and 
Mrs. Goodman in the usual way, and Miss Power read the 
letter. His resignation was a surpise ; the question whether he 
would or would not repay the money was passed over; the 
necessity of installing Somerset after all as sole architect was 
an agitation, or emotion, the precise nature of which it is 
impossible to accurately define. 

However, she went about the house after breakfast with very 
much the manner of one who had had a weight removed' 

N 2 


i8o 


A LAODICEAN. 


either from her heart or from her conscience ; moreover, liei 
face was a little flushed when, in passing by Somerset’s late 
studio, she saw the plans bearing his motto, and knew that his 
and not Havill’s would be the presiding presence in the com- 
ing architectural turmoil. She went on further, and called to 
Charlotte, who was now regularly sleeping in the castle, to 
accompany her, and together they ascended to the telegraph- 
room in the donjon tower. 

“ Whom are you going to telegraph to ? ” said Miss De Stancy 
when they stood by the instrument. 

“ My architect.” 

“ uh— Mr. Havill.” 

“ Mr. Somerset.” 

Miss De Stancy had schooled her emotions on that side 
cruelly well, and she asked calmly, “ What, have you chosen 
him after all ? ” 

“ There is no choice in it — read that,” said Paula, handing 
Havill’s letter, as if she felt that Providence had stepped in to 
shape ends that she was too undecided or unpractised to shape 
for herself. 

“ it is very strange,” murmured Charlotte ; while Paula 
applied herself to the machine and despatched the words : 

Miss Power , Stancy Castle, to G. Somerset , Esq., PS. A., 
F.R.I.B.A . , Queen Anne's Chambers , St. James's : — 

Your design is accepted in its ejitirety. It will be necessary to 
begin soon. I shall wish to see and consult you on the matter 
about the i oth instant. 

When the message was fairly gone out of the window Paula 
seemed still further to expand. The strange spell cast over 
her by something or other — probably the presence ofDe Stancy, 
and the weird romanticism of his manner towards her, which 
was as if the historic past had touched her with a yet living 
hand — in a great measure became dissipated, leaving her the 
arch and serene maiden that she had been before. 

About this time Captain De Stancy and his Achates were 
approaching the castle, and had arrived about fifty paces from 
the spot at which it was Dare’s custom to drop behind his 
companion, in order that their appearance at the lodge should 
be that of master and man. 

Dare was saying, as he had said before : “ I can’t help 
fancying, captain, that your approach to this castle and its 


bE STANCY. 


1S1 

mistress is by a very tedious system. Your trenches, zigzags, 
counterscarps, and ravelins may be all very well, and a very 
sure system of attack in the long run ; but. upon my soul they 
are almost as slow in maturing as those of Uncle Toby himself. 
For my part I should be inclined to try an assault.” 

“ Don’t pretend to give advice, Willy, on matters beyond your 
years.” 

“ I only meant it for your good, and your proper advance- 
ment in the world,” said Dare in wounded tones. 

“Different characters, different systems,” returned the cap- 
tain. “This lady is of a reticent, independent, complicated 
disposition, and any sudden proceeding would put her on her 
mettle. You don’t dream what my impatience is, my boy. It 
is a thing transcending your utmost conceptions ! But I proceed 
slowly ; I know better than to do otherwise. Thank God there 
is plenty of time. As long as there is no risk of Somerset’s 
return my situation is sure.” 

“ And professional etiquette will prevent him coming yet. 
Havill and he will change like the men in a sentry-box ; when 
Havill walks out, he’ll walk in, and not a moment before.” 

“ That will not be till eighteen months have passed. And, 
as the Jesuit said, ‘ Time and I against any two.’ . . . Now 
drop to the rear,” added Captain De Stancy authoritatively. 
And they passed under the walls of the castle. 

The grave fronts and bastions were wrapped in silence ; so 
much so, that, standing a while in the inner ward, they could hear 
through an open window a faintly clicking sound from within. 

“ She’s at the telegraph,” said Dare, throwing forward his voice 
softly to the captain. “ What can that be for so early? That 
wire is a nuisance, to my mind ; such constant intercourse with 
the outer world is bad for our romance.” 

The speaker entered to arrange his photographic apparatus, 
of which, in truth, he was getting weary ; and De Stancy 
smoked on the terrace till Dare should be ready. While he 
waited his sister looked out upon hint from an upper casement, 
having caught sight of him as she came -from Paula in the 
telegraph-room. 

“ Well, Lotty, what news this morning ? ” he said gaily. 

« Nothing of importance. We are quite well.” .... She 
added with hesitation, “There is one piece of news; Mr 
Havill — but perhaps you have heard it in Markton?” 


A LAODICEAN. 


182 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Mr. Havill has resigned his appointment as architect to 
the castle.” 

“ What ? — who has it, then ? ” 

“ Mr. Somerset,” she faltered. 

“ Appointed ? ” 

“ Yes — by telegraph.” 

“ When is he coming ?” said De Stancy in consternation. 

u About the tenth, we think.” 

Charlotte was concerned to see her brother’s face, and with- 
drew from the window that he might not question her further. 
De Stancy went into the hall, and on to the gallery, where 
Dare was standing as still as a caryatid. 

“ I have heard every word,” said Dare. 

“ Well, what does it mean ? Has that fool Havill done it on 
purpose to annoy me ? What conceivable reason can the man 
have for throwing up an appointment he has worked so hard for, at 
the moment he has got it, and in the time of his greatest need ? ” 

Dare guessed, for he had seen a little way into Havill’s soul 
during the brief period of their confederacy. But he was very 
far from saying what he guessed. Yet he unconsciously 
revealed by other words the nocturnal shades in his character 
which had made that confederacy possible. 

“ Somerset coming after all ! ” he replied. “ By God : that 
little six-barrelled friend of mine, and a good resolution, and he 
would never arrive ! ” 

“ What ! ” said Captain De Stancy, paling with horror as he 
looked at the other and gathered his sinister meaning. 

Dare instantly recollected himself. “ One is tempted to 
say anything at such a moment,” he replied hastily. 

“Since he is to come, let him come, for me,” continued De 
Stancy, with reactionary distinctness, and still gazing gravely 
into the young man’s face. “ The battle shall be fairly fought 
out. Fair play, even to a rival — remember that, my boy. . . . 
Why are you here ? — unnaturally concerning yourself with the 
passions of a man of my age, as if you were the parent, and I 
the son ? Would to heaven, Willy, you had done as I wished 
you to do, and led the life of a steady, thoughtful young man ! 
Instead of meddling here, you should now have been in some 
studio, college, or professional man’s chambers, engaged in a 
useful pursuit which might have made one proud to own you. 


DE STANCY. 183 

But you were so precocious and headstrong,; and this is what 
you have come to : you promise to be worthless ! ” 

“ I think I shall go to my lodgings to-day instead of staying 
here over these pictures,” said Dare, after a silence, during which 
Captain De Stancy endeavoured to calm himself. “ I was 
going to tell you that my dinner to-day will unfortunately be 
one of herbs, for want of the needful. I have come to my last 
stiver. — You dine at the mess, I suppose, captain?” 

De Stancy had walked away ; but Dare knew that he played 
a pretty sure card in that speech. De Stancy’s heart could not 
withstand the suggested contrast between a lonely meal of 
bread-and-cheese and a well-ordered dinner amid cheerful 
companions. — “ Here,” he said, emptying his pocket and return- 
ing to the lad’s side. “ 'Fake this, and order yourself a good 
meal. You keep me as poor as a crow. There shall be more 
to-morrow.” 

The peculiarly bifold nature of Captain De Stancy, as shown 
in his conduct at different times, was something rare in life, and 
perhaps happily so. That mechanical admixture of black and 
white qualities without coalescence, on which the theory of 
men’s characters was based by moral analysts before the rise 
of modern ethical schools, fictitious as it was in general appli- 
cation, would have almost hit off the truth as regards Captain 
De Stancy. Removed to some half-known century, his deeds 
would have won a picturesqueness of light and shade that 
might have made him a fascinating subject for some gallery of 
illustrious historical personages. It was this tendency to moral 
chequer-work which accounted for his varied bearings towards 
Dare. 

Dare withdrew to take his departure. When he had gone a 
few steps, despondent, he suddenly turned, and ran back with 
some excitement. 

“ Captain — he’s coming on the tenth, don’t they say ? Well, 
four days before the tenth comes the sixth. Have you for- 
gotten what’s fixed for the sixth ? ” 

“ I had quite forgotten ! ” 

“ That day will be worth three months of quiet attentions : 
with luck, skill, and a bold heart, what mayn’t you do ? ” 

Captain De Stancy’s face softened with satisfaction. 

“ There is something in that ; the game is not up after all 
The sixth — it had gone clean out of my head, by gad ! ” 


A LAODICEAN. 


184 


CHAPTER V. 

The cheering message from Paula to Somerset sped through 
.he loophole of Stancy Castle keep, over the trees, along the 
railway, under bridges, across three counties — from extreme 
antiquity of environment to sheer modernism — and finally 
landed itself on a table in Somerset’s chambers in the midst of 
a cloud of fog. He read it and, in the moment of reaction 
from the depression of his past days, clapped his hands like a 
child. 

Then he considered the date at which she wanted to see 
him. Had she so worded her despatch he would have gone that 
very day ; but there was nothing to complain of in her giving 
him a week’s notice. Pure maiden modesty might have 
checked her indulging in a too ardent recall. 

Time, however, dragged somewhat heavily along in the 
interim, and on the second day he thought he would call on 
his father and tell him of his success in obtaining the appoint- 
ment. 

The elder Mr. Somerset lived in a detached house in the 
north-west part of fashionable London ; and ascending the 
chief staircase the young man branched off from the first land- 
ing and entered nis father’s painting-room. It was an hour 
when he was pretty sure of finding the well-known painter at 
work, and on lifting the tapestry he was not disappointed, Mr. 
Somerset being busily engaged With his back towards the door. 

Art and vitiated nature were struggling like wrestlers in that 
apartment, and art was getting the worst of it. The over- 
powering gloom pervading the clammy air, rendered still more 
intense by the height of the window from the floor, reduced all 
the pictures that were standing around to the wizened feeble- 
ness of corpses on end. The shadowy parts of the room 
behind the different easels were veiled in a brown vapour, pre- 
cluding all estimate of the extent of the studio, and only 
subdued in the foreground by the ruddy glare from an open 
store of Dutch tiles. Somerset’s footsteps had been so noiseless 


DE STANCY. 


185 


over the carpeting of the stairs and landing, that his father was 
unaware of his presence ; he continued at his work as before, 
which he performed by the help of a complicated apparatus of 
lamps, candles, and reflectors, so arranged as to eke out the 
miserable daylight to a power apparently sufficient for the 
neutral touches on which he was at that moment engaged. 

The first thought of an unsophisticated stranger on entering 
that room could only be the amazed inquiry why a professor of 
the art of colour, which beyond all other arts requires pure day- 
light for its exercise, should fix himself on the single square 
league in habitable Europe to which light is denied at noonday 
for weeks in succession. 

“Oh! it’s you, George, is it?” said the Academician, turn- 
ing from the lamps, which shone over his bald crown at such a 
slant as to reveal every cranial irregularity. “ How are you 
this morning ? Still a dead silence about your grand castle 
competition ? ” 

Somerset told the news. His father duly congratulated him, 
and added genially, “ It is well to be you, George. One large 
commission to attend to, and nothing to distract you from it. 
I am bothered by having a dozen irons in the fire at once. 
And people are so unreasonable. — Only this morning, among 
other things, when you got your order to go on with your single 
study, I received a letter from a woman, an old friend whom I 
can scarcely refuse, begging me as a great favour to design her 
a set of theatrical costumes, in which she and her friends can 
perform for some charity. It would occupy me a good week 
to go into the subject and do the thing properly. Such are the 
sort of letters I get. I wish, George, you could knock out 
something for her before you leave town. It is positively 
impossible for me me to do it with all this work in hand, and 
these eternal fogs to contend against.” 

“ I fear costumes are rather out of my line,” said the son. 
“ However, I’ll do what I can. What period and country are 
they to represent ? ” 

His father didn’t know. He had never looked at the play of 
late years. It was ‘ Love’s Labour’s Lost.’ “ You had better 
read it for yourself,” he said, “ and do the best you can.” 

During the morning Somerset junior found time to refresh 
his memory of the play, and afterwards went and hunted up 
materials for designs to suit the same, which occupied his spare 


A LAODICEAN. 


1 86 

hours for the next three days. As these occupations made no 
great demands upon his reasoning faculties he mostly found 
his mind wandering off to imaginary scenes at Stancy Castle : 
particularly did he dwell at this time upon Paula’s lively 
interest in the history, relics, tombs, architecture, — nay, the 
very Christian names, of the De Stancy line, and her “ artistic ” 
preference for Charlotte’s ancestors instead of her own. Yet 
what more natural than that a clever meditative girl, encased in 
the feudal lumber of that family, should imbibe at least an 
antiquarian interest in it ? Human nature at bottom is 
romantic rather than ascetic, and the local habitation which 
accident had provided for Paula was perhaps acting as a 
solvent of the hard, morbidly introspective views thrust upon 
her in early life. 

Somerset wondered if his own possession of a substantial 
genealogy like Captain De Stancy’ § would have had any 
appreciable effect upon her regard for him. His suggestion to 
Paula of her belonging to a worthy strain of engineers had 
been based on his content with his own intellectual line of de- 
scent through Phidias. Ictinus and Callicrates, Chersiphron, 
Vitruvius, Wilars of Cambray, William of Wykeham, and the 
rest of that long and illustrious' roll ; but Miss Power’s marked 
preference for an animal pedigree led him to muse on what 
he could show for himself in that kind. 

These thoughts so far occupied him that when he took the 
sketches to his father, on the morning of the fifth, he was led 
to ask : “ Has anyone ever sifted out our family pedigree ? ” 

“ Family pedigree?” 

“Yes. Have we any pedigree worthy to be compared with 
that of professedly old families ? I never remember hearing 
of any ancestor further back than my greit-grandfather.” 

Somerset the elder reflected and said that he believed there 
was a genealogical tree about the house somewhere, reaching 
back to a very respectable distance. “ Not that I ever took 
much interest in it,” he continued, without looking up from his 
canvas ; “ but your great-uncle John was a man with a taste 
for those subjects, and he drew up such a sheet : he made 
several copies on parchment, and gave one to each of his 
brothers and sisters. The one he gave to my father is still in 
my possession, I think.” 

Somerset said that he should like to see it ; but half an 


DE STANCY. 


‘37 


hour’s search about the house failed to discover the document ; 
and the Academician then remembered that it was in an iron 
box at his banker’s. He had used it as a wrapper for some 
bonds and other valuable papers which were deposited there 
for safety. “Why do you want it?” he inquired. 

The young man confessed his whim to know if his own 
antiquity would bear comparison with that of another person, 
whose name he did not mention ; whereupon his father gave 
him a key that would fit the said chest, if he meant to pursue the 
subject further. Somerset, however, did nothing in the matter 
that day, but the next morning, having to call at the bank on 
other business, he remembered his new fancy. 

It was about eleven o’clock. The fog, though not so brown 
as it had been on previous days, was still dense enough to 
necessitate lights in the shops and offices. When Somerset 
had finished his business in the outer office of the bank he 
went to the manager’s room. The hour being somewhat early 
the only persons present in that sanctuary of balances, besides 
the manager who welcomed him, were two gentlemen, 
apparently lawyers, who sat talking earnestly over a box of 
papers. The manager, on learning what Somerset wanted, 
unlocked a door from which a flight of stone steps led to the 
vaults, and sent down a clerk and a porter for the safe. 

Before, however, they had descended far a gentle tap came 
to the door, and in response to an invitation to enter a lady 
appeared, wrapped up in furs to her very nose. 

The manager seemed to recognise her, for he went across 
the room in a moment, and set her a chair at the middle table, 
replying to some observation of hers with the words, “ Oh yes, 
certainly,” in a deferential tone. 

“ I should like it brought up at once,” said the lady. 

Somerset, who had seated himself at a table in a somewhat 
obscure corner, screened by the lawyers, started at the words. 
The voice was Miss Power’s, and so plainly enough was the 
figure as soon as he examined it. Her back was towards him, 
and either because the room was only lighted in two places, 
or because she was absorbed in her own concerns, she seemed 
to be unconscious of any one’s presence on the scene except 
the banker and herself. The former called back the clerk, 
and two other porters having been summoned they disappeared 
to get whatever she required. 

Yol 7 (Gr) 


i88 


A LAODICEAN . 


Somerset, somewhat excited, sat wondering what could have 
brought Paula to London at this juncture, and was in some 
doubt if the occasion were a suitable one for revealing him- 
self, her errand to her banker being possibly of a very private 
nature. Nothing helped him to a decision. Paula never once 
turned her head, and the progress of time was marked only by 
the murmurs of the two lawyers, and the ceaseless clash of 
gold and rattle of scales from the outer room, where the busy 
heads of cashiers could be seen through the partition moving 
about under the globes of the gas-lamps. 

Footsteps were heard upon the cellar-steps, and the three 
men previously sent below staggered from the doorway, bearing 
a huge safe which nearly broke them down. Somerset knew 
that his father’s box, or boxes, could boast of no such dimen- 
sions, and he was not surprised to see the chest deposited in 
front of Miss Power. When the immense accumulation of 
dust had been cleared off the lid, and the chest conveniently 
placed for her, Somerset was attended to, his modest box being 
brought up by one man unassisted, and without much expen 
diture of breath. 

His interest in Paula was of so emotional a cast that his 
attention to his own errand was of the most perfunctory kind. 
She was close to a gas-standard, and the lawyers, whose seats 
had intervened, having finished their business and gone away, 
all her actions were visible to him. While he was opening his 
father’s box the manager assisted Paula to unseal and unlock 
hers, and he now saw her lift from it a morocco case, which 
she placed on the table before her, and unfastened. Out of it 
she took a dazzling object that fell like a cascade over her 
fingers. It was a necklace of diamonds and pearls, apparently 
of large size and many strands, though he was not near enough 
to see distinctly. When satisfied by her examination that she 
had got the right article she shut it into its case. 

The manager closed the chest for her ; and when it was 
again secured Paula arose, tossed the necklace into her hand-bag, 
bowed to the manager, and was about to bid him good morning. 
Thereupon he said with some hesitation, “ Pardon one question, 
Miss Power. Do you intend to take those jewels far ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said simply, “ to Stancy Castle.” 

“ You are going straight there ? ” 

“ I have one or two places to call at first” 


DE STANCY. 


i8q 

“ I would suggest that you carry them in some other way — 
by fastening them into the pocket of your dress, for instance.” 

“ But I am going to hold the bag in my hand and never once 
let it go.” 

The banker slightly shook his head. “ Suppose your 
carriage gets overturned : you would let it go then.” 

“ Perhaps so.” 

“ Or if you saw a child under the wheels just as you were 
stepping in ; or if you accidentally stumbled in getting out ; 
or if there was a collision on the railway — you might let it go.” 

“ Yes ; I see I was too careless. I thank you.” 

Paula removed the necklace from the bag, turned her back 
to the manager, and spent several minutes in placing hei 
treasure in her bosom, pinning it and otherwise making it 
absolutely secure. 

“That’s it,” said the grey-haired man of caution, with 
evident satisfaction. “ There is not much danger now : you 
are not travelling alone ? ” 

Paula replied that she was not alone, and went to the door. 
There was one moment during which Somerset might have 
conveniently made his presence known ; but the juxtaposition 
of the bank-m mager, and his own disarranged box of securities, 
embarrassed him : the mo. cent slipped by, and she was gone. 

In the meantime he had mechanically unearthed the pedigree, 
and, locking up his father’s chest, Somerset also took his 
departure at the heels of Paula. He walked along the misty 
street, so deeply musing as to be quite unconscious of the 
direction of his walk. What, he inquired of himself, could she 
want that necklace for so suddenly ? He recollected a remark 
of Dare’s to the effect that her appearance on a particular 
occasion at Stancy Castle had been magnificent by reason of 
the jewels she wore ; which proved that she had retained a 
sufficient quantity of those valuables at the castle for ordinary 
requirements. YVhat exceptional occasion, then, was impend- 
ing on which she wished to glorify herself beyond all previous 
experience? He could not guess. He was interrupted in 
these conjectures by a carriage nearly passing over his toes at 
a crossing in Bond Street : looking up he saw between the two 
windows of the vehicle the profile of a thickly mantled bosom, 
on which a camelia rose and fell. All the remainder part of 
the lady’s person was hidden ; but he remembered that flower 


190 


A LAODICEAN. 


of convenient season as one which had figured in the bank 
parlour half an hour earlier to-day. 

Somerset hastened after the carriage, and in a minute saw it 
stop opposite a jeweller’s shop. Out came Paula, and then 
another woman, in whom he recognised Mrs. Birch, one of the 
lady’s maids at Stancy Castle. The young man was at Paula’s 
side before she had crossed the pavement. 


CHAPTER VI. 

A quick arrested expression in her two sapphirine eyes, 
accompanied by a little, a very little, blush which loitered long, 
was all the outward disturbance that the sight of her lover 
caused. The habit of self-repression at any new emotional 
impact was instinctive with her always. Somerset could not 
say more than a word ; he looked his intense solicitude, and 
Paula spoke. 

She declared that this was an unexpected pleasure. Had he 
arranged to come on the tenth as she wished ? How strange 
that they should meet thus ! — and yet not strange — the world 
was so small. 

Somerset said that he was coming on the very day she 
mentioned — that the appointment gave him infinite gratification, 
which was quite within the truth. 

“ Come into this shop with me,” said Paula, with good- 
humoured authoritativeness. 

They entered the shop and talked on while she made a small 
purchase. But not a word did Paula say of her sudden errand 
to town. 

“ I am having an exciting morning,” she said. “ I am going 
from here to catch the one-o’clock train to Markton.” 

“It is important that you get there this afternoon, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“Yes. You know why ? ” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ The Hunt Ball. It was fixed for the sixth, and this is the 
sixth. I thought they might have asked you.” 


DE STANCY. 


191 


“ No,” said Somerset, a trifle gloomily. “ No, I am not asked. 
But it is a great task for you — a long journey and a ball all in 
one day.” 

“ Yes : Charlotte said that. But I don’t mind it” 

“ You are glad you are going. Are you glad? ” he said softly. 

Her air confessed more than her words. “ I am not so very 
glad that I am going to the Hunt Ball,” she replied confiden- 
tially. 

“ Thanks for that,” said he. 

She lifted her eyes to his for a moment. Her manner had 
suddenly become so nearly the counterpart of that in the tea- 
house that to suspect any deterioration of affection in her was 
no longer generous. It was only as if a thin layer of recent 
events had overlaid her memories of him, until his presence 
swept them away. 

Somerset looked up, and finding the shopman to be still some 
way off, he added, “ When will you assure me of something in 
return for what I assured you that evening in the rain ? ” 

“Not before you have built the castle. My aunt does not 
know about it yet, nor anybody.” 

“ I ought to tell her.” 

“ No, not yet. I don’t wish it.” 

“ Then everything stands us usual ?” 

She lightly nodded. 

“ That is, I may love you : but you still will not say you love 
me.” 

She nodded again, and directing his attention to the advanc- 
ing shopman, said, “ Please not a word more.” 

Soon after this, they left the jeweller’s, and parted, Paula 
driving straight off to the station and Somerset going on his 
way uncertainly happy. His re-impression after a few minutes 
was that a special journey to town to fetch that magnificent 
necklace which she had not once mentioned to him, but which 
was plainly to be the medium of some proud purpose with her 
this evening, was hardly in harmony with her assertions of 
indifference to the attractions of the Hunt Ball. 

He got into a cab and drove to his club, where he lunched, 
and mopingly spent a great part of the afternoon in making 
calculations for the foundations of the castle works. Late in 
the afternoon he returned to his chambers, wishing that he 
could annihilate the three days remaining before the tenth, 


192 


A LAODICEAN. 


particularly this coming evening. On his table was a letter in a 
strange writing, and indifferently turning it over he found from 
the superscription that it had been addressed to him days before 
at the King’s Arms Hotel, Markton, where it had lain ever 
since, the landlord probably expecting him to return. Opening 
the missive, he found to his surprise that it was, after all, an 
invitation to the Hunt Ball. 

“ Too late ! ” said Somerset. “To think I should be served 
this trick a second time ! ” 

After a moment’s pause, however, he looked to see the time 
of day. It was five minutes past five — just about the hour 
when Paula would be driving from Markton Station to Stancy 
Castle to rest and prepare herself for her evening triumph. 
There was a train at six-o’clock, timed to reach Markton 
between eleven and twelve, which by great exertion he might 
save even now, if it were worth while to undertake such a scramble 
for the pleasure of dropping in to the ball at a late hour. A 
moment’s vision of Paula moving to swift tunes on the arm of 
a person or persons unknown was enough to impart the impetus 
required. He jumped up, flung his dress suit into a portman 
teau, sent down to call a cab, and in a few minutes was rattling 
off to the railway which had borne Paula away from London 
just five hours earlier. 

Once in the train, he began to consider where and how he 
could most conveniently dress for the dance. The train would 
certainly be half an hour late ; half an hour would be spent in 
getting to the town-hall, and that was the utmost delay tolerable 
if he would secure the hand of Paula for one spin, or be more 
than a mere dummy behind the earlier arrivals. He looked for 
an empty compartment at the next stoppage, and finding the 
one next his own unoccupied, he entered it and changed his 
raiment for that in his portmanteau during the ensuing run of 
twenty miles. 

Thus prepared he awaited the Markton platform, which was 
reached as the clock struck twelve. Somerset called a fly and 
drove at once to the town-hall. 

The borough natives had ascended to their upper floors, and 
were putting out their candles one by one as he passed along 
the streets ; but the lively strains that proceeded from the 
central edifice revealed distinctly enough what was going on 
among the temporary visitors from the neighbouring manors. 


DE STANCY. 


193 


The doors were opened for him, and entering the vestibule lined 
with flags, flowers, evergreens, and escutcheons, he stood look- 
ing into the furnace of gaiety beyond. 

It was some time before he could gather his impressions of 
the scene, so perplexing were the lights, the motions, the toilets, 
the full-dress uniforms of officers and the harmonies of sound. 
Yet light, sound, and movement were not so much the essence 
of that giddy scene as an intense aim at obliviousness in the 
beings composing it. For two or three hours at least those 
whirling young people meant not to know that they were mortal. 
The room was beating like a heart, and the pulse was regulated 
by the trembling strings of the most popular quadrille band in 
Wessex. But at last his eyes grew settled enough to look 
critically around. 

The room was crowded — too crowded. Every variety of fair 
one, beauties primary, secondary, and tertiary, appeared among 
the personages composing the throng. There were suns and 
moons ; also pale planets of little account. Broadly speaking, 
these daughters of the county fell into two classes : one the 
pink-faced unsophisticated girls from neighbouring rectories and 
small country-houses, who knew not town except for an occa- 
sional fortnight, and who spent their time from Easter to 
Lammas Day much as they spent it during the remaining nine 
months of the year : the other class were the children of the 
wealthy landowners who migrated each season to the town- 
house ; these were pale and collected, showed less enjoyment 
in their countenances, and wore in general an approximation to 
the languid manners of the capital. 

A quadrille was in progress, and Somerset scanned each set. 
His mind had run so long upon the necklace, that his glance 
involuntarily sought out that gleartfing object rather than 
the personality of its wearer. At the top of the room 
there he beheld it; but it was on the neck of Charlotte 
De Stancy. 

The whole lucid explanation broke across his understanding 
in a second. His dear Paula had fetched the necklace that 
Charlotte should not appear to disadvantage among the county 
people by reason of her poverty. It was generously done — 
a disinterested act of sisterly kindness ; theirs was the friend- 
ship of Hermia and Helena. Before he had got furttei 
than to realise thin, there wheeled round amongst the 

o 


194 


A LAODICEAN. 


dancers a lady whose ton mure he recognised well. She was 
Paula ; and to the young man’s vision a superlative some- 
thing distinguished her from all the rest. This was not dress 
or ornament, for she had hardly a gem upon her, her attire 
being a model of effective simplicity. Her partner was Captain 
De Stancy. 

The discovery of this latter fact slightly obscured his 
appreciation of what he had discovered just before. It 
was with rather a lowering brow that he asked himself 
whether Paula’s predilection d 1 artiste, as she called it, for the 
De Stancy line might not lead to a predilection of a different 
sort for its last representative which would be not at all 
satisfactory. 

The architect remained in the background till the dance 
drew to a conclusion, and then he went forward. The circum- 
stance of having met him by accident once already that day 
seemed to quench any surprise in Miss Power’s bosom at seeing 
him now. There was nothing in her parting from Captain De 
Stancy, when he led her to a seat, calculated to make Somerset 
uneasy after his long absence. Though, for that matter, this 
proved nothing; for, like all wise maidens, Paula nevei 
ventured on the game of the eyes with a lover in public ; well 
knowing that every moment of such indulgence overnight might 
mean an hour’s sneer at her expense by the indulged gentle- 
man next day, when weighing womankind by the aid of a cold 
morning light and a bad headache. 

Whilst Somerset was explaining to Paula and her aunt the 
reason of his sudden appearance, their attention was drawn to 
a seat a short way off by a fluttering of ladies round the 
spot. In a moment it was whispered that somebody had 
fallen ill, and in another that the sufferer was Miss De 
Stancy. Paula, Mrs. Goodman, and Somerset at once joined 
the group of friends who were assisting her. Neither of 
them imagined for an instant that the unexpected advent of 
Somerset on the scene had anything to do with the poor girl’s 
indisposition. 

She was assisted out of the room, and her brother, who now 
came up, prepared to take her home, Somerset exchanging a 
few civil words with him, which the hurry of the moment pre- 
vented them from continuing ; though on taking his leave with 
Charlotte, who was now bettei, De Stancy informed Somerset 


DE STANCY. 


J 95 


in answer to a cursory inquiry, that he hoped to be back again 
at the ball in half an hour. 

When they were gone Somerset, feeling that now another 
dog might have his day, sounded Paula on the delightful 
question of a dance. 

Paula replied in the negative. 

“ How is that ? ” asked Somerset with reproachful dis- 
appointment. 

“ I cannot dance again,” she said in a somewhat depressed 
tone \ “ I must be released from every engagement to do so, 
on account of Charlotte’s illness. I should have gone home 
with her if I had not been particularly requested to stay a little 
longer, since it is as yet so early, and Charlotte’s illness is not 
very serious.” 

If Charlotte’s illness was not very serious, Somerset thought, 
Paula might have stretched a point ; but not wishing to hinder 
her in showing respect to a friend so well liked by himself, he 
did not ask it. De Stancy had promised to be back again in 
half an hour, and Paula had heard the promise. But at the 
end of twenty minutes, still seeming indifferent to what was 
going on around her, she said she would stay no longer, 
and . reminding Somerset that they were soon to meet and 
talk over the rebuilding, drove off with her aunt to Stancy 
Castle. 

Somerset stood looking after the retreating carriage till it 
was enveloped in shades that the lamps could not disperse. 
The ball-room was now virtually empty for him, and feeling no 
great anxiety to return thither he stood on the steps for some 
minutes longer, looking into the calm mild night, and at the 
dark houses behind whose blinds lay the burghers with their 
eyes sealed up in sleep. He could not but think that it was 
rather too bad of Paula to spoil his evening for a sentimental 
devotion to Charlotte which could do the latter no appreciable 
good ; and he would have felt seriously hurt at her move if it 
had not been equally severe upon Captain De Stancy, who was 
doubtless hastening back, full of a belief that she would still be 
found there. 

The star of gas-jets over the entrance threw its light upon 
the walls on the opposite side of the street, where there were 
notice boards of forthcoming events. In glancing over these for 
the fifth time, his eye was attracted by the first words of a 

o 2 


9 6 


A LAODICEAN. 


placard in blue letters, of a size larger than the rest, and 
moving onward a few steps he read : — 

STANCY CASTLE. 


By the kind permission of Miss Power 

A PLAY 

Will shortly be performed at the above CASTLE, 
IN AID OF THE FUNDS OF THE 

COUNTY HOSPITAL, 

By the Officers of the 

ROYAL HORSE ARTILLERY, 
MARKTON BARRACKS, 

ASSISTED BY SEVERAL 

LADIES OF THE NEIGHBOURHOOD. 


The cast and other particulars will be duly announced in small bills. 
Places will be reserved on application to Mr. Clangham, High Street, 
Markton, where a plan of the room may be seen. 

N.B. — The Castle is about fifteen minutes’ drive from Markton Station, 
to which there are numerous convenient trains from all parts of the county. 


In a profound study Somerset turned and re-entered the 
ball-room, where he remained gloomily standing here and there 
for about five minutes, at the end of which he observed 
Captain De Stancy, who had returned punctually to his word, 
crossing the hall in his direction. 

The gallant officer darted glances of lively search over 
every group of dancers and sitters ; and then with rather a 


DE STANCY. 


197 


blank look in his face he came on to Somerset. Replying to 
the latter’s inquiry for his sister that she had nearly recovered, 
he said, “ I don’t see my father’s neighbours anywhere.” 

“ They have ^one home,” replied Somerset, a trifle drily. 
“ They asked me to make their apologies to you for leading 
you to expect they would remain. Miss Power was too 
anxious about Miss De Stancy to care to stay longer.” 

The eyes of De Stancy and the speaker met for an instant. 
That curious guarded understanding, or inimical confederacy 
which arises at moments between two men in love with the 
same woman, was present here ; and in their mutual glances 
each said as plainly as by words that her departure had ruined 
his evening’s hope. 

They were now about as much in one mood as it was 
possible for two such differing natures to be. Neither cared 
further for elaborating giddy curves on that town-hall floor. 
They stood talking languidly about this and that local topic, 
till De Stancy turned aside for a short time to speak to a 
dapper little lady who had beckoned to him. In a few minutes 
he came back to Somerset. 

“ Mrs. Camperton, the wife of Major Camperton of my 
battery, would very much like me to introduce you to her. 
She is an old friend of your father’s, and has wanted to know 
you for a long time.” 

De Stancy and Somerset crossed over to the lady, and in a few 
minutes, thanks to her flow of spirits, she and Somerset were 
chatting with remarkable freedom. 

“ It is a happy coincidence,” continued Mrs. Camperton, 
“that I should have met you here, immediately after receiving 
a letter from your father : indeed it reached me only this 
morning. He has been so kind ! We are getting up some 
theatricals, as you know, I suppose, to help the funds of the 
County Hospital, which is in debt.” 

“ I have just seen the announcement — nothing more.” 

“ Yes, such an estimable purpose ; and as we wished to do 
it thoroughly well, I asked Mr. Somerset to design us the 
costumes, and he has now sent me the sketches. It is quite a 
secret at present, but we are going to play Shakespeare’s 
romantic drama, ‘ Love’s Labour’s Lost,’ and we hope to get 
Miss Power to tike the leading part. You see, being such a 
handsome girl and so wealthy, and rather an undiscovered 


198 


A LAODICEAN. 


novelty in the county as yet, she would draw a crowded room, 
and greatly benefit the funds.” 

“ Miss Power going to play herself? — I am rather surprised,” 
said Somerset. “ Whose idea is all this ? ” 

“ Oh, Captain De Stancy’s — he’s the orignator entirely. 
You see he is so interested in the neighbourhood, his family 
having been connected with it for so many centuries, that 
naturally a charitable object of this local nature appeals to his 
feelings.” 

“ Naturally ! ” her listener laconically repeated. “ And 
have you settled who is to play the junior gentlemen’s part, 
leading lover, hero, or whatever he is called ? ” 

“Not absolutely; though I think Captain De Stancy will 
not refuse it ; and he is a very good figure. At present it lies 
between him and Mr. Mild, one of our young lieutenants. My 
husband, of course, takes the heavy line ; and I am to be the 
second lady, though I am rather too old for the part really. 
If we can only secure Miss Power for heroine the cast will 
be excellent.” 

“ Excellent ! ” said Somerset, with a spectral smile. 


CHAPTER VII. 

When he awoke the next morning at the King’s Arms Hotel 
Somerset felt quite morbid on recalling the intelligence he had 
received from Mrs. Camperton. But as the day for serious 
practical consultation about the castle works, to which Paula 
had playfully alluded, was now close at hand, he determined to 
banish sentimental reflections on the frailties that were be- 
sieging her nature, by active preparation for his professional 
undertaking. To be her high-priest in art, to elaborate a 
structure whose cunning workmanship would be meeting her 
eye every day till the end of her natural life, and saying to her, 
“ He invented it,” with all the eloquence of an inanimate 
thing long regarded — this was no mean satisfaction, come 
what else would. 

He returned to town the next day to set matters there in 


DE STANCY. 


199 


such trim that no inconvenience should result from his pro- 
longed absence at the castle ; for having no other commission 
he determined (with an eye rather to heart-interests than to 
increasing his professional practice) to make, as before, the 
castle itself his office, studio, and chief abiding place till the 
works were fairly in progress. 

On the tenth he reappeared at Markton. Passing through 
the town, on the road to Stancy Castle, his eyes were again 
arrested by the notice-board which had conveyed such startling 
information to him on the night of the ball. The small bills 
now appeared thereon ; but when he anxiously looked them 
over to learn how the parts were to be allotted, he found that 
intelligence still withheld. Yet they told enough ; the list ol 
lady-players was given, and Miss Power’s name was one. 

That a young lady who, six months ago, would scarcely join 
for conscientious reasons in a simple dance on her own lawn, 
should now be willing to exhibit herself on a public stage, 
simulating love-passages with a stranger, argued a rate of 
development which under any circumstances would have sur- 
prised him, but which, with the particular addition, as leading 
colleague, of Captain De Stancy, inflamed him almost to anger. 
What clandestine arrangements had been going on in his 
absence to produce such a full-blown intention it were futile to 
guess. Paula’s course was a race rather than a march, and 
each successive heat was startling in its eclipse of that which 
went before. 

Somerset was, however, introspective enough to know that 
his morals would have taken no such virtuous alarm had he 
been the chief male player instead of Captain De Stancy. 

He passed under the castle-arch and entered. There 
seemed a little turn in the tide of affairs when it was announced 
to him that Miss Power expected him, and was alone. 

The well-known ante-chambers through which he walked, 
filled with twilight, draughts, and thin echoes that seemed to 
reverberate from two hundred years ago, did not delay his eye 
as they had done when he had been ignorant that his destiny 
lay beyond ; and he followed on through all this ancientness 
to where the modern Paula sat to receive him. 

He forgot everything in the pleasure of being alone in a 
room with her. She met his eye with that in her own which 
cheered him. It was a light expressing that something was 


zoo 


A LAODICEAN. 


understood between them. She said quietly in two or three 
words that she had expected him in the forenoon. 

Somerset explained that he had come only that morning 
from London. 

After a little more talk, in which she said that her aunt would 
join them in a few minutes, and that Miss De Stancy was still 
indisposed at her father’s house, she rang for tea and sat down 
beside a little table. “ Shall we proceed to business at once ? ” 
she asked him. 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ First then, when will the working drawings be ready, which 
I think you said must be made out before the work could 
begin ? ” 

While Somerset informed her on this and other matters, 
Mrs. Goodman entered and joined in the discussion, after 
which they found it would be necessary to adjourn to the room 
where the plans were hanging. On their walk thither Paula 
asked if he stayed late at the ball. 

“ I left soon after you.” 

“ That was very early, seeing how late you arrived.” 

“ Yes. ... I did not dance.” 

“ What did you do then ? ” 

“ I moped, and walked to the door ; and saw an announce- 
ment.” 

“ I know — the play that is to be performed.” 

“In which you are to be the Princess.” 

“That’s not settled, — I have not agreed yet. I shall not 
play the Princess of France- unless Mr. Mild plays the King 
of Navarre.” 

This sounded rather well. The Princess was the lady 
beloved by the King ; and Mr. Mild, the young lieutenant of 
artillery, was a diffident, inexperienced, rather plain-looking 
fellow, whose sole interest in theatricals lay in the consideration 
of his costume and the sound of his own voice in the ears of 
the audience. With such an unobjectionable person to enact 
the part of lover, the prominent character of leading young 
lady or heroine, which Paula was to personate, was really the 
most satisfactory in the whole list for her. For although she 
was to be wooed hard, there was just as much love-making 
among the remaining personages ; while, as Somerset had 
understood <he play, fhere could ©ccur no flingings of her 


DE STANCY. 


201 


person upon her lover’s neck, or agonised downfalls upon the 
stage, in her whole performance, as there were in the parts 
chosen by Mrs. Camperton, the major’s wife, and some of the 
other ladies. 

“ Why do you play at all ! ” he murmured. 

“What a question ! How could I refuse for such an excellent 
purpose ? They say that my taking a part will be worth a 
hundred pounds to the charity. My father always supported 
the hospital, which is quite undenominational ; and he said I 
was to do the same.” 

“ Do you think the peculiar means you have adopted for 
supporting it entered into his view ? ” inquired Somerset, regard- 
ing her with critical dryness. “ For my part I don’t.” 

“ It is an interesting way,” she returned persuasively, 
though apparently in a state of mental equipoise on the point 
raised by his question. “ And I shall not play the Princess, 
as I said, to any other than that quiet young man. Now I 
assure you of this, so don’t be angry and absurd ! Besides, the 
King doesn’t marry me at the end of the play, as in Shake- 
speare’s other comedies. And if Miss De Stancy continues 
seriously unwell I shall not play at all.” 

The young man pressed her hand, but she gently slipped it 
away. 

“ Are we not engaged, Paula ! ” he asked. She evasively 
shook her head. 

“Come — yes we are! Shall we tell your aunt?” he con- 
tinued. Unluckily at that moment Mrs. Goodman, who had 
followed them to the studio at a slower pace, appeared round 
the doorway. 

“ No, — to the last,” replied Paula hastily. Then her aunt 
entered, and the conversation was no longer personal. 

Somerset took his departure in a serener mood, though not 
comp'etely assured. 


207 


A LAODICEAN. 




CHAPTER VIII. 

His serenity continued during two or three following days, 
when, continuing at the castle, he got pleasant glimpses of 
Paula now and then. Her strong desire that his love for her 
should be kept secret, perplexed him ; but his affection was 
generous, and he acquiesced in that desire. 

Meanwhile news of the forthcoming dramatic performance 
radiated in every direction. And in the next number of the 
county paper it was announced, to Somerset’s comparative 
satisfaction, that the cast was definitely settled, Mr. Mild 
having agreed to be the King and Miss Power the French 
Princess. Captain De Stancy, with becoming modesty for one 
who was the leading spirit, figured quite low down, in the 
secondary character of Sir Nathaniel. 

Somerset remembered that, by a happy chance, the costume 
he had designed for Sir Nathaniel was not at all picturesque ; 
moreover Sir Nathaniel scarcely came near the Princess through 
the whole play. 

Every day after this there was coming and going to and 
from the castle of railway vans laden with canvas columns, 
pasteboard trees, limp house-fronts, woollen lawns, and lath 
balustrades. There were also frequent arrivals of young ladies 
from neighbouring country houses, and warriors from the X 
and Y batteries of artillery, distinguishable by their regulation 
shaving. 

But it was upon Captain De Stancy and Mrs. Camperton 
that the weight of preparation fell. Somerset, through being 
much occupied in the drawing-office, was seldom present 
during the consultations and rehearsals : until one day, tea 
being served in the drawing-room at the usual hour, he dropped 
in with the rest to receive a cup bom Paula’s table. The 
chatter was tremendous, and Somerset was at once consulted 
about some necessary carpentry which was to be specially 
made at Markton. After mat he was looked on as one of the 
band, which resulted in a large addition to the number of his 
acquaintance in this part of England, 


DE STANCY. 


203 


But his own feeling was that of being an outsider still. This 
vagary had been originated, the play chosen, the parts allotted, 
all in his absence, and calling him in at the last moment 
might, if flirtation were possible in Paula, be but a sop to 
pacify him. What would he have given to impersonate her 
lover in the piece ! But neither Paula nor any one else had 
asked him. 

The eventful evening came. Somerset had been engaged 
during the day with the different people by whom the works were 
to be carried out ; and in the evening went to his rooms at the 
King’s Arms, Markton, where he dined. He did not return to 
the castle till the hour fixed for the performance, and having 
been received by Mrs. Goodman entered the large apartment, 
now transfigured into a theatre, like any other spectator. 

Rumours of the projected representation had spread far and 
wide. Six times the number of tickets issued might have been 
readily sold. Friends and acquaintances of the actors came 
from curiosity to see how they would acquit themselves ; while 
other classes of people came because they were eager to see 
well-known notabilities in unwonted situations. When ladies, 
hitherto only beheld in frigid, impenetrable positions behind 
their coachmen in Markton High Street, were about to reveal 
their hidden traits, home attitudes, intimate smiles, nods, and 
perhaps kisses, to the public eye, it was a throwing open of 
fascinating social secrets not to be missed for money. 

The performance opened with no further delay than was 
occasioned by the customary refusal of the curtain at these 
times to rise more than two feet six inches ; but this hitch was 
remedied, and the play began. It was with no enviable emotion 
that Somerset, who was watching intently, saw, not Mr. Mild, 
but Captain De Stancy, enter as the King of Navarre. 

Somerset as a friend of the family had had a seat reserved 
for him next to that of Mrs. Goodman, and turning to her he 
said with some excitement, “ I understood that Mr. Mild had 
agreed to take that part ? ” 

“ Yes,” she said in a whisper, “so he had ; but he broke 
down. He did very well at the first rehearsal ; then he got 
more and more nervous, and at last this very morning said he 
could not possibly enact the part. Luckily Captain De Stancy 
was familiar with it, through having coached the others so 
persistently, and he undertook it off-hand. Being about the 


204 


A LAODICEAN, 


same figure as Lieutenant Mild the same dress fits him, with a 
little alteration by the tailor.” 

It did fit him indeed ; and of the male costumes it was that 
on which Somerset had bestowed most pains when designing 
them. It shrewdly burst upon his mind that there might have 
been collusion between Mild and De Stancy, the former agreeing 
to take the captain’s place and act as blind till the last moment. 
A greater question was, could Paula have possibly been aware 
of this, and would she perform as the Princess of France now 
De Stancy was to be her lover, or throw up the part and stop 
the play. 

“ Does Miss Power know of this change ? ” he inquired. 

“ She did not till quite a short time ago.” 

He asked no further question from very pride, and con- 
trolled his impatience till the beginning of the second act. The 
Princess entered ; it was Paula. But whether the slight 
embarrassment with which she pronounced her opening 
words, 

Good Lord Boyet, my beauty, though but mean, 

Needs not the painted flourish of your praise, 

was due to the newness of her situation, or to her knowledge 
that De Stancy had usurped Mild’s part of her lover, he could 
not guess. De Stancy appeared, and Somerset felt grim as he 
listened to the gallant captain’s salutation of the Princess, and 
her response. 

De S . — Fair Princess, welcome to the court of Navarre. 

Paula. — Fair, I give you back again : and welcome, I have not 
yet. 

Somerset listened to this and to all that which followed of 
the same sort, with the reflection that, after all, the Princess 
never throughout the piece compromised her dignity by show- 
ing her love for the King ; and that the latter, on this account, 
never addressed her in words in which passion got the better of 
courtesy. Moreover, as Paula had herself observed, they did 
not marry at the end of the piece, as in Shakespeare’s other 
comedies. Somewhat calm in this assurance, he waited on 
while the other couples respectively indulged in their love- 
making and banter, including Mrs. Camperton as the sprightly 
Rosaline. But he was doomed to be surprised out of his 


DE STANCY. 


205 


humour when the end of the act came on. In abridging the 
play for the convenience of representation, the favours or gifts 
from the gentlemen to the ladies were personally presented ; and 
now Somerset saw De Stancy advance with the necklace 
fetched by Paula from London, and clasp it on her neck. 

This seemed to throw a less pleasant light on her hasty 
journey. To fetch a valuable ornament in order to lend it to a 
poorer friend was estimable ; but to fetch it that the friend’s 
brother should have something magnificent and attractive to 
use as a lover’s offering to herself in public, that wore a 
different complexion. Moreover, if the article were recognised 
by the spectators as the same that Charlotte had worn at the 
ball, which it probably was, the presentation by De Stancy of 
what must seem to be an heirloom of his house assumed the 
colour of symbolising a union of the families. 

De Stancy’s mode of presenting the necklace, though 
unauthorised by Shakespeare, had the full approval of the 
company, and set them in good humour to receive Major 
Camperton as Armado the braggart. Nothing calculated to 
stimulate jealousy occurred again till the fifth act ; and then 
there arose full cause for it. 

The scene was the outside of the Princess’s pavilion. De 
Stancy, as the King of Navarre, stood with his group of atten- 
dants awaiting the princess, who presently entered from her 
door. The two began to converse as the play appointed, De 
Stancy turning to her with this reply : 

Rebuke me not for that which you provoke ; 

The virtue of your eye must break my oath. 

So far all was well ; and Paula opened her lips for the set 
rejoinder. But before she had spoken De Stancy continued : 

If I profane with my unworthy hand 

( Takmg her hand) 

This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this — 

My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand 
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. 

Somerset stared. Surely in this comedy the King never 
addressed the Princess in such warm words ; and yet they were 
Shakespeare’s, for they were quite familiar to him. A dim 
suspicion crossed his mind. Mrs, Goodman had brought a 


206 


A LAODICEAN. 


copy of Shakespeare with her, which she kept in her lap and 
never looked at : borrowing it, Somerset turned to ‘ Romeo 
and Juliet,’ and there he saw the words which De Stancy had 
introduced as gag, to intensify the mild love-making of the 
other play. Meanwhile De Stancy continued : 

O then, dear Saint, let lips do what hands do ; 

They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair. 

Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take. 

Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purg’d ! 

Could it be that De Stancy was going to do what came next 
in the stage direction — kiss her ? Before there was time for 
conjecture on that point the sound of a very sweet and long- 
drawn osculation spread through the room, followed by loud 
applause from the people in the cheap seats. De Stancy with- 
drew from bending over Paula, and she was very red in the face. 
Nothing seemed clearer than that he had actually done the 
deed. The applause continuing, Somerset turned his head. 
Five hundred faces had regarded the act ; and four hundred and 
fifty mouths in those faces were smiling. About one half of 
them were tender smiles ; these came from the women. The 
other half were at best humorous, and mainly satirical ; these 
came from the men. It was a profanation without parallel, 
and his face blazed like a coal. 

The play was now nearly at an end, and Somerset sat on, 
feeling what he did not and could not express. More than ever 
was he assured that there had been collusion between the two 
artillery officers to bring about this end. That he should have 
been the unhappy man to design those picturesque dresses in 
which his rival so audaciously played the lover to his, Somerset’s 
mistress, was an added point to the satire. He could hardly go 
so far as to assume that Paula was a consenting party to this 
startling interlude ; but her otherwise unaccountable wish that 
his own love should be clandestinely shown lent immense force 
to a doubt of her sincerity. The ghastly thought that she had 
merely been keeping him on, like a pet spaniel, to amuse her 
leisure moments till she should have found appropriate oppor- 
tunity for an open engagement with some one else, trusting to 
his sense of chivalry to keep secret their little episode, filled 
him with a grim heat. 


DE STANCY. 


207 


CHAPTER IX. 

At the back of the room the applause had been loud at the 
moment of the kiss, real or counterfeit. The cause was partly 
owing to an exceptional circumstance which had occurred in 
that quarter early in the play. 

The people had all seated themselves, and the first act had 
begun, when the tapestry that screened the door was lifted 
gently and a figure appeared in the opening The general 
attention was at this moment absorbed by the newly disclosed 
stage, and scarcely a soul noticed the stranger. Had any one 
of the audience turned his head, there would have been 
sufficient in the countenance to detain his gaze, notwithstanding 
the counter-attraction forward. 

He was obviously a man who had come from afar. There 
was not a square inch about him that had anything to do with 
modern English life. His visage, which was of the colour of 
light porphyry, had little of its original surface left ; it was a 
face which had been the plaything of strange fires or pestilences, 
that had moulded to whatever shape they chose his originally 
supple skin, and left it pitted, puckered, and seamed like a 
dried water-course. But though dire catastrophes or the 
treacherous airs of remote climates had done their worst upon 
his exterior, they seemed to have affected him but little within, 
to judge from a certain robustness which showed itself in his 
manner of standing. 

The face-marks had a meaning, for any one who could read 
them, beyond the mere suggestion of their origin: they 
signified that this man had either been the victim of some 
terrible necessity as regarded the occupation to which he had 
devoted himself, or that he was a man of dogged obstinacy, 
from sheer sang froid holding his ground amid malign forces 
when others would have fled affrighted away. 

As nobody noticed him, he dropped the door-hangings after a 
while, walked silently along the matted alley, and sat down in 
one of the back chairs. His manner of entry was enough to 


208 


A LAODICEAN . 


show that the strength of character which he seemed to possess 
had phlegm for its base and not ardour. One might have said 
that perhaps the shocks he had passed through had taken all 
his original warmth out of him. His beaver hat, which he had 
retained on his head till this moment, he now placed under the 
seat, where he sat absolutely motionless till the end of the 
first act, as if he were indulging in a monologue which did not 
quite reach his lips. 

When Paula entered at the beginning of the second act he 
showed as much excitement as was expressed by a slight 
movement of the eyes. When she spoke he turned to his 
next neighbour, and asked him in cold level words which had 
once been English, but which seemed to have lost the accent 
of nationality : “ Is that the young woman who is the possessor 
of this castle — Power by name?” 

His neighbour happened to be the landlord at Sleeping-Green, 
and he informed the stranger that she was what he supposed. 

“ And who is that gentleman whose line of business seems 
to be to make love to Power ? ” 

“ He’s Captain De Stancy, Sir William De Stancy’s son, who 
used to own this property.” 

“ Baronet or knight ? ” 

“ Baronet — a very old-established family about here.” 

The stranger nodded, and the play went on, no further word 
being spoken till the fourth act was reached, when the stranger 
again said, without taking his narrow black eyes from the 
stage : “ There’s something in that love-making between 
Stancy and Power that’s not all sham ! ” 

“ Well,” said the landlord, “ I have heard different stories 
about that, and wouldn’t be the man to say what I couldn’t 
swear to. The story is that Captain De Stancy, who is as 
poor as a gallicrow, is in full cry after her, and that his only 
chance lies in his being heir to a title and the old name. But 
she has not shown a genuine hanker for anybody yet.” 

“ If she finds the money, and this Stancy finds the name and 
blood, ’twould be a very neat match between ’em, — hey ? ” 

“ That’s the argument.” 

Nothing more was said again for a long time, but the 
stranger’s eyes showed more interest in the passes between 
Paula and De Stancy than they had shown before. At length 
the crisis came, as described in the last chapter, De Stancy 


DE STANCY. 


20Q 

saluting her with that semblance of a kiss which gave such 
umbrage to Somerset. The stranger’s thin lips lengthened a 
couple of inches with satisfaction ; he put his hand into his 
pocket, drew out two half-crowns which he handed to the 
landlord, saying, “Just applaud that, will you, and get your 
comrades to do the same.” 

The landlord, though a little surprised, took the money, and 
began to clap his hands as desired. The example was con- 
tagious, and spread all over the room ; for the audience, gentle 
and simple, though they might not have followed the blank 
verse in all its bearings, could at least appreciate a kiss. It 
was the unusual acclamation raised by this means which had 
led Somerset to turn his head. 

When the play had ended the stranger was the first to rise, 
and going downstairs at the head of the crowd he passed out of 
doors, and was lost to view. Some questions were asked by 
the landlord as to the stranger’s individuality ; but few had 
seen him ; fewer had noticed him, singular as he was ; and none 
knew his name. 

While these things had been going on in the quarter allotted 
to the commonalty, Somerset in front had waited the fall of 
the curtain with those sick and sorry feelings which should be 
combated by the aid of philosophy and a good conscience, but 
which really are only subdued by time and the abrading rush 
of affairs. He was, however, stoical enough, when it was all 
over, to accept Mrs. Goodman’s invitation to accompany her 
to the drawing-room, fully expecting to find there a large 
company, including Captain De Stancy. 

But none of the acting ladies and gentlemen had emerged 
trom their dressing-rooms as yet. Feeling that he did not care 
to meet any of them that night, he bade farewell to 
Mrs. Goodman after a few minutes of conversation, and left 
her. While he was passing along the corridor, at the side of 
the gallery which had been used as the theatre, Paula crossed 
it from the latter apartment towards an opposite door. She 
was still in the dress of the Princess, and the diamond and 
pearl necklace still hung over her bosom as placed there by 
Captain De Stancy. 

Her eye caught Somerset’s, and she stopped. Probably 
there was something in his face which told his mind, for she 
invited him by a smile into the room she was entering. 

P 


210 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ I congratulate you on your performance,” he said me 
chanically, when she pushed-to the door. 

“ Do you really think it was well done ? ” she asked, drawing 
near him with a sociable air. 

“ It was startlingly done — the part from ‘ Romeo and Juliet’ 
pre-eminently so.” 

“ Do you think I knew he was going to introduce it, or do 
you think I didn’t know ? ” she said, with that gentle sauciness 
which shows itself in the loved one’s manner when she has had 
a triumphant evening without the lover’s assistance. 

“ I think you may have known.” 

“ No,” she averred, decisively shaking her head. “ It took 
me as much by surprise as it probably did you. But why 
should I have told ! ” 

Without answering that question Somerset went on. “ Then 
what he did at the end of his gag was of course a surprise also.” 

“ He didn’t really do what he seemed to do,” she serenely 
answered. 

“ Well, I have no right to make observations — your actions 
are not subject to my surveillance ; you float above my plane,” 
said the young man with some bitterness. “ But to speak 
plainly, surely he — kissed you ? ” 

“ No,” she said. “ He only kissed the air in front of me — 
ever so far off.” 

“ Was it six inches off?” 

“ No, not six inches.” 

“ Nor three.” 

“ It was quite one,” she said with an ingenuous air. 

“ I don’t call that very far.” 

“ A miss is as good as a mile, says the time-honoured 
proverb ; and it is not for us modern mortals to question its 
truth.” 

“ How can you be so off-hand ! ” broke out Somerset. “ I love 
you wildly and desperately, Paula, and you know it well ! ” 

“ I have never denied knowing it,” she said softly. 

“ Then why do you, with such knowledge, adopt an air of 
levity at such a moment as this ! You keep me at arm’s-length, 
and won’t say whether you care for me one bit, or no. I have 
owned all to you ; yet never once have you owned anything to 
me !” 

“ I have owned much. And you do me wrong if you con- 


DE STANCY. 


211 


sider that I show levity. But even if I had not owned every- 
thing, and you all, it is not altogether such a grievous thing.” 

“ You mean to say that it is not grievous, even if a man does 
love a woman, and suffers all the pain of feeling he loves in 
vain ? Well, I say it is quite the reverse, and I have grounds 
for knowing.” 

“ Now, don’t fume so, George Somerset, but hear me. My 
not owning all may not have the dreadful meaning you think, 
and therefore it may not be really such a grievous thing. There 
are genuine reasons for women’s conduct in these matters as well 
as for men’s, though it is sometimes supposed to be regulated 
entirely by caprice. And if I do not give way to every feeling 
— I mean demonstration — it is because I don’t want to. There 
now, you know what that implies ; and be content.” 

“Very well,” said Somerset, with repressed sadness, “I will 
not expect you to say more. But you do like me a little, 
Paula ? ” 

“ Now ! ” she said, shaking her head with symptoms of 
tenderness and looking into his eyes. " What have you just 
promised ? Perhaps I like you a little more than a little, 
which is much too much ! Yes, — Shakespeare says so, and he 
is always right. Do you still doubt me ? Ah, I see you do ! ” 

“ Because somebody has stood nearer to you to-night 
than I.” 

“An elderly man like him ! — half as old again as either of 
us ! How can you mind him ? What shall I do to show you 
that I do not for a moment let him come between me 
and you ? ” 

“ It is not for me to suggest what you should do. Though 
what you should permit me to do is obvious enough.” 

She dropped her voice : “ You mean, permit you to do 
really and in earnest what he only seemed to do in the play.” 

Somerset signified by a look that such had been his thought. 

Paula was silent. “ No,” she murmured at last “ That 
cannot be. He did not, nor must you.” 

It was said none the less decidedly for being spoken low. 

“ You quite resent such a suggestion : you have a right to. 

beg your pardon, not for speaking of it, but for thinking it.” 

“ I don’t resent it at all, and I am not offended one bit 
Eut I am not the less of opinion that it is possible to be 
premature in some things ; and to do this just now would be 

p 2 


JI2 


A LAODICEAN. 


premature. I know what you would say — that you would not 
have asked it, but for that unfortunate improvisation of it in 
the play. But that I was not responsible for, and therefore 
owe no reparation to you now. . . . Listen ! ” 

“ Paula — Paula ! Where in the world are you ? ” was heard 
resounding along the corridor in the voice of her aunt. “ Our 
friends are all ready to leave, and you will surely bid them 
good-night ! ” 

“ I must be gone — I won’t ring for you to be shown out — 
come this way.” 

“ But how will you get on in repeating the play to-morrow 
evening if that interpolation is against your wish ? ” he asked, 
looking her hard in the face. 

“ I’ll think it over during the night. Come to-morrow 
morning to help me settle. But,” she added, with coy yet 
genial independence, “ listen to me. Not a word more about 
a — what you asked for, mind ! I don’t want to go so far, 
and I will not — not yet at least — I mean perhaps never. You 
must promise that, or I cannot see you again alone.” 

“It shall be as you request.” 

“ Very well. And not a word of this to a soul. My aunt 
suspects : but she is a good aunt and will say nothing. Now 
that is clearly understood, I should be glad to consult with you 
to-morrow early. I will come to you in the studio or Pleasance 
as soon as I am disengaged.” 

She took him to a little chamfered doorway in the corner, 
which opened into a descending turret ; and Somerset went 
down. When he had unfastened the door at the bottom, and 
stepped into the lower corridor she asked, “Are you down?” 
And on receiving an affirmative reply she closed the top door. 


CHAPTER X. 

Somerset was in the studio the next morning about ten o’clock 
superintending the labours of Knowles, Bowles, and Cockton, 
whom he had again engaged to assist him with the drawings on 
his appointmeu t to carry out the works. When he had set them 
going he ascended the staircase of the great tower for some 


DE STANCY. 


213 


purpose that bore upon the forthcoming repairs of this part. 
Passing the door of the telegraph-room he heard little sounds 
within which led him to pause. They came from the instru- 
ment, that somebody was working. Only two people in the 
castle, to the best of his knowledge, knew the trick of this ; Miss 
Power, and a page in her service called John. Miss De Stancy 
could also despatch messages, but she was at Myrtle Villa. 

The door was closed, and much as he would have liked to 
enter, the possibility that Paula was not the performer led him 
to withhold his steps, since he had no legitimate reason for in- 
truding. He went on to where the uppermost masonry had 
resisted the mighty hostility of the elements for five hundred 
years without receiving worse dilapidation than half a century 
produces upon the face of man. But he still wondered who 
was telegraphing, and whether the message bore on the subject 
of housekeeping, architecture, theatricals, or love. 

Could Somerset have seen through the panels of the door in 
passing, he would have beheld the room occupied by Paula 
alone. 

It was she who sat at the instrument, and the message she 
was despatching ran as under : — 

“ Can you se?id down a competent actress, who will undertake 
the part of Prmcess of Fra)ice in ‘ Love's Labours Lost * this 
evening in a temporary theatre here 1 Dresses already provided 
suitable to a lady about the 7niddle height. State price” 

The telegram was addressed to a well-known theatrical agent 
in London. 

Off went the message, and Paula retired into the next room, 
which was her boudoir, leaving the door open between that and 
the one she had just quitted. Here she busied herself with 
wiiting some letters, till in less than an hour the telegraph in- 
strument showed signs of life, and she hastened back to its side. 
The reply received from the agent was as follows : — 

“ Miss Barbara Bell of the Regenfs Theatre could come. Quite 
competent. Her terms would be about twenty-five guineas.” 

Without a moment’s pause Paula returned for answer : — 

“ The terms are quite satisfactory.” 

Presently she heard the instrument again, and emerging from 
the next room in which she had passed the intervening time as 
before, she read : — 

“ Miss Barbara Bells terms were accidentally understated. 


214 


A LAODICEAN. 


They would he forty guineas, in consequence of the distance. Am 
waiting at the office for a reply.” 

Paula set to work as before and replied : — 

“ Quite satisfactory ; only let her come at once.” 

She did not leave the room this time, but went to an arrow- 
slit hard by and gazed out at the trees till the instrument began 
to speak again. Returning to it with a leisurely manner, imply- 
ing a full persuasion that the matter was settled, she was some- 
what surprised to learn that 

“ Miss Bell, in stating her terms, understands that she will not 
be required to leave London till the middle of the afternoon. If it 
is necessary for her to leave at once, ten guitieas extra would be in- 
dispensable, on account of the great inco?ivenience of such a short 
tiotice.” 

Paula seemed a little vexed, but not much concerned she 
sent back with a readiness scarcely politic in the circum- 
stances : — 

“ She must start at once. Price agreed to.” 

Her impatience for the answer was mixed with curiosity as 
to whether it was due to the agent or to Miss Barbara Bell that 
the prices had grown like Jack’s Bean-stalk in the negotiation. 
Another telegram duly came : — 

“ Travelling expe7ises are expected to be paid.” 

With decided impatience she dashed off : — 

“ Of course ; but nothing more will be agreed to.” 

Then, and only then, came the desired reply : — 

“ Miss Bell starts by the twelve o'clock train." 

This business being finished, Paula left the chamber and 
descended into the inclosure called the Pleasance, a spot grassed 
down like a lawn. Here stood Somerset, who, having come 
down from the tower, was looking on while a man searched for 
old foundations under the sod with a crowbar. He was glad 
to see her at last, and noticed that she looked serene and 
relieved ; but could not for the moment divine the cause. 
Paula came nearer, returned his salutation, and regarded the 
man’s operations in silence awhile till his work led him to a 
distance from them. 

“ Do you still wish to consult me ? ” asked Somerset. 

“ About the building perhaps,” said she. “ Not about the play/ 

“ But you said so ? ” 

“ Yes ; but it will be unnecessary.” 


DE STANCY. 


215 


Somerset thought this meant skittishness, and merely bowed. 

“ You mistake me as usual,” she said, in a low tone. “ I am 
not going to consult you on that matter, because I have done all 
you could have asked for without consulting you. I take no 
part in the play to-night.” 

“ Forgive my momentary doubt ! ” 

“ Somebody else will play for me — an actress from London. 
But on no account must the substitution be known beforehand or 
the performance to-night will never come off ; and that I should 
much regret ” 

“ Captain De Stancy will not play his part if he knows you 
will not play yours — that’s what you mean ? ” 

“ You may assume as much,” she said smiling. “ And to 
guard against this you must help me to keep the secret by 
being my confederate.” 

To be Paula’s confederate ; to-day, indeed, time had brought 
him something worth waiting for. “ In anything 1 ” cried 
Somerset. 

“ Only in this ! ” said she, with soft severity. “ And you 
know what you have promised, George ! and you remember 
there is to be no — what we talked about ! Now will you go in 
the one-horse brougham to Mark ton Station this afternoon, 
and meet the four o’clock train ? Inquire for a lady for 
Stancy Castle — a Miss Bell ; see her safely into the carriage, 
and send her straight on here. I am particularly anxious that 
she should not enter the town, for I think she once came to 
Markton in a starring company, and she might be recognised, 
and my plan be thus defeated.” 

Thus she instructed her lover and devoted friend ; and when 
he could stay no longer he left her in the garden to return to 
his studio. As Somerset went in by the garden door he met a 
strange-looking personage coming out by the same passage — a 
stranger, with the manner of a Dutchman, the face of a smelter, 
and the clothes of an inhabitant of Guiana. The stranger, whom 
we have already seen sitting at the back of the theatre the 
night before, looked hard from Somerset to Paula, and from 
Paula again to Somerset, as he stepped out. Somerset had an 
unpleasant conviction that this queer gentleman had been 
standing for some time in the doorway unnoticed, quizzing him 
and his mistress as they talked together. If so he might have 
learnt a secret 


216 


A LAODICEAN. 


When he arm ed upstairs, Somerset went to a window com- 
manding a view of the garden. Paula still stood in her place, 
and the stranger was earnestly conversing with her. Soon they 
passed round the corner and disappeared. 

It was now time for him to see about starting for Markton, an 
intelligible zest for circumventing the ardent and coercive captain 
of artillery saving him from any unnecessary delay in the journey. 
He was at the station ten minutes before the train was due ; and 
when it drew up to the platform the first person to jump out 
was Captain De Stancy in sportsman’s attire and with a gun in 
his hand. Somerset nodded, and De Stancy spoke, informing 
the architect that he had been ten miles down the line shooting 
water-fowl. “ That’s Miss Power’s carriage, I think,” he added. 

“Yes,” said Somerset, carelessly. “She expects a friend, I 
believe. We shall see you at the castle again to-night ? ” 

De Stancy assured him that they would, and the two men 
parted, Captain De Stancy, when he had glanced to see that the 
carri ige was empty, going on to where a porter stood with a 
couple of dogs. 

Somerset now looked again to the train. While his back had 
been momentarily turned to converse with the captain, a lady of 
five-and-thirty had alighted from the identical compartment 
occupied by De Stancy. . She made an inquiry about getting to 
Stancy Castle, upon which Somerset, who had not till now 
observed her, went forward, and introducing himself assisted her 
to the carriage and saw her safely off. 

De Stancy had by this time disappeared, and Somerset 
walked on to his rooms at the King’s Arms, where he remained 
till he had dined, picturing the discomfiture of his alert rival 
when there should enter to him as Princess, not Paula Power, 
but Miss Bell of the Regent’s Theatre, London. Thus the 
hour passed, till he found that if he meant to see the issue of 
the plot it was time to be off 

On arriving at the castle, Somerset entered by the public 
door from the hall as before, a natural delicacy leading him to 
feel that though he might be welcomed as an ally at the stage- 
door — in other words, the door from the corridor — it was 
advisable not to take too ready an advantage of a privilege 
which, in the existing secrecy of his understanding with Paula, 
might lead to an overthrow of her plans on that point. 

Not intending to sit out the whole performance, Somerset 


DE STANCY. 


217 


contented himself with standing in a window recess near the 
proscenium, whence he could observe both the stage and the 
front rows of spectators. He was quite uncertain whether 
Paula would appear among the audience to-night, and resolved 
to wait events. Just before the rise of the curtain the young 
lady in question entered and sat down. When the scenery 
was disclosed and the King of Navarre appeared, what was 
Somerset’s surprise to find that, though the part was the part 
taken by De Stancy on the previous night, the voice was that 
of Mr. Mild ; to him, at the appointed season, entered the 
Princess, namely, Miss Barbara Bell. 

Before Somerset had recovered from his crestfallen sensation 
at De Stancy’s elusiveness, that officer himself emerged in 
evening dress from behind a curtain forming a wing to the 
proscenium, and Somerset remarked that the minor part 
originally allotted to him was filled by the subaltern who had 
enacted it the night before. De Stancy glanced across, 
whether by accident or otherwise Somerset could not determine, 
and his glance seemed to say he quite recognised there had 
been a trial of wits between them, and that, thanks to his 
chance meeting with Miss Bell in the train, his had proved the 
stronger. 

The house being less crowded to-night there were one or two 
vacant chairs in the best part. De Stancy, advancing from 
where he had stood for a few moments, seated himself com- 
fortably beside Miss Power. 

On the other side of her he now perceived the same queer 
elderly foreigner (as he appeared) who had come to her in the 
garden that morning. Somerset was surprised to perceive also 
that Paula with very little hesitation introduced him and De 
Stancy to each other. A conversation ensued between the 
three, none the less animated for being carried on in a whisper, 
in which Paula seemed on strangely intimate terms with the 
stranger, and the stranger to show feelings of great friendship 
for De Stancy, considering that they must be new acquaint- 
ances. 

The play proceeded, and Somerset still lingered in his 
corner. He could not help fancying that De Stancy’s in- 
genious relinquishment of his part, and its obvious reason was 
winning Paula’s admiration. His conduct was homage carried 
to unscrupulous and inconvenient lengths, a sort of thing 


218 


A LAODICEAN. 


which a woman may chide, but which she can never resent 
Who could do otherwise than talk kindly to a man, incline a 
little to him, and condone his fault, when the sole motive of 
so audacious an exercise of his wits was to escape acting with 
any other heroine than herself. 

His conjectures were brought to a pause by the ending of 
the comedy, and the opportunity afforded him of joining the 
group in front. The mass of people were soon gone, and the 
knot of friends assembled around Paula were discussing the 
merits and faults of the two days’ performance. 

“ My uncle, Mr. Abner Power,” said Paula suddenly to 
Somerset, as he came near, presenting the stranger to the 
astonished young man. “ I could not see you before the per- 
formance, as I should have liked to do. The return of my 
uncle is so extraordinary, that it ought to be told in a less 
hurried way than this. He has been supposed dead by all of 
us for nearly ten years — ever since the time we last heard from 
him.” 

“For which* I am to blame,” said Mr. Power, nodding to 
Paula’s architect. “Yet not I, but accident and a sluggish 
temperament. There are times, Mr. Somerset, when the 
human creature feels no interest in his kind, and assumes that 
his kind feel no interest in him. The feeling is not active 
enough to make him fly from their presence ; but sufficient to 
keep him silent if he happens to be away. I may not have 
described it precisely ; but this I know, that after my long 
illness, and the fancied neglect of my letters ” 

“ For which my father was not to blame, since he did not 
receive them,” said Paula. 

“ For which nobody was to blame — after that, I say, I wrote 
no more.” 

“ You have much pleasure in returning at last, no doubt,” 
said Somerset. 

“ Sir, as I remained away without particular pain, so I 
return without particular joy. I speak the truth, and no 
compliments. I may add that there is one exception to this 
absence of feeling from my heart, namely, that I do derive 
great satisfaction from seeing how mightily this young woman 
has grown and prevailed.” 

This address, though delivered nominally to Somerset, was 
listened to by Paula, Mrs. Goodman, and De Stancy also. 


DE STANCY. 


219 


After uttering it, the speaker turned away, and continued his 
previous conversation with Captain De Stancy. From this 
time till the group parted he never again spoke directly to 
Somerset, paying him barely so much attention as he might 
have expected as Paula’s architect, and certainly less than he 
might have supposed his due as her accepted lover. 

The result of the appearance, as from the tomb, of this 
wintry man was that the evening ended in a frigid and formal 
way which gave little satisfaction to the sensitive Somerset, who 
was abstracted and constrained by reason of thoughts on how 
this resuscitation of the uncle would affect his relation with 
Paula. It was possibly also the thought of two at least of the 
others. There had, in truth, scarcely yet been time enough to 
adumbrate the possibilities opened up by this gentleman’s 
return. 

The only private word exchanged by Somerset with any one 
that night was with Mrs. Goodman, in whom he always recog- 
nised a friend to his cause, though the fluidity of her character 
rendered her but a feeble one at the best of times. She in- 
formed him that Mr. Power had no sort of legal control over 
Paula, or direction in her estates ; but Somerset could not 
doubt that a near and only blood relation, even had he possessed 
but half the static force of character that made itself apparent 
in Mr. Power, might exercise considerable moral influence over 
the girl if he chose. And in view of Mr. Power’s marked 
preference for De Stancy, Somerset had many misgivings as to 
its operating in a direction favourable to himself. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Somerset was deeply engaged with his draughtsmen and 
builders during the three following days, and scarcely entered 
the occupied wing of the castle. 

At his suggestion Paula had agreed to have the works 
executed as such operations were carried out in old times, 
before the advent of contractors. Each trade required in the 
building was to be represented by a master-tradesman of that 
denomination, who should stand responsible for his own section 

Voi. 7 (H) 


220 


A LAODICEAN 


of labour, and for no other, Somerset himself as chief technicist 
working out his designs on the spot. By this means the 
thoroughness of the workmanship would be greatly increased in 
comparison with the modern arrangement, whereby a nominal 
builder, seldom present, who can certainly know no more than 
one trade intimately and well, and who often does not know 
that, undertakes the whole. 

But notwithstanding its manifest advantages to the proprietor, 
the plan added largely to the responsibilities of the architect, 
who, with his master-mason, master-carpenter, master-plumber, 
and what not, had scarcely a moment to call his own. Still, 
the method being upon the face of it the true one, Somerset 
liked it, and supervised with a will. 

But though so deeply occupied as to be removed from 
immediate contact with the household, there seemed to float 
across the court to him from the inhabited wing an intimation 
that things were not as they had been before ; that an influence 
adverse to himself was at work behind the ashlared face of inner 
wall which confronted him hard by. Perhaps this was because 
he never saw Paula at the windows, or heard her footfall in 
that half of the building given over to himself and his myrmidons. 
There was really no reason other than a sentimental one why 
he should see her. The uninhabited part of the castle was 
almost an independent structure, and it was quite natural to 
exist for weeks in this wing without coming in contact with 
residents in the other. 

But a more pronounced cause than vague surmise was 
destined to perturb him, and this in an unexpected manner. It 
happened one morning that, before leaving his chambers at the 
King’s Arms, he glanced through a local paper while waiting for 
the pony-carriage to be brought round in which he often drove 
to the castle. The paper was two days old, but to his un- 
utterable amazement he read therein a paragraph which ran as 
follows : — 

“ We are informed that a marriage is likely to be arranged 
between Captain De Stancy, of the Royal Horse Artillery, only 
surviving son of Sir William De Stancy, Baronet, and Paula, 
only daughter of the late John Power, Esq., M.P., of Stancy 
Castle.” 

Somerset dropped the paper, and stared out of the window. 
Fortunately for his emotions, the horse and carriage were at 


DE STANCY. 


221 


this moment brought to the door, so that nothing hindered 
Somerset in driving off to the spot at which he would be 
soonest likely to learn what truth or otherwise there was in the 
newspaper report. From the first he doubted it : and yet how 
should it have got there ? Such strange rumours, like paradox- 
ical maxims, generally include a portion of truth, and what 
this portion was he found it impossible to guess. Five days 
had elapsed since he last spoke to Paula ; could anything have 
happened in that interval to lead the tantalising girl to smile 
encouragingly on De Stancy ? 

Reaching the castle he entered his own quarters as usual, 
and after setting the draughtsmen to work walked up and down 
pondering how he might best see her without making the dis- 
turbing paragraph the ground of his request for an interview ; 
for if it were absolutely a fabrication, such a reason would 
wound her pride in her own honour towards him, and if it 
were partly true, he would certainly do better in leaving her 
alone than in reproaching her. It would simply amount to a 
proof that Paula was an arrant coquette, the explanation of 
whose guarded conduct towards himself lay in the fact that 
she wished not to commit herself in playing her game with 
him. 

But all this, or any of it, was too ungenerous a thought to 
entertain for an instant. It reopened the whole problem of 
her bearing from the beginning, and was painful even when 
rejected as absurd. 

In his meditation he stood still, closely scanning one of the 
jamb-stones of a doorless entrance, as if to discover where the 
old hinge-hook had entered the stonework. He heard a foot- 
step behind him, and looking round saw Paula standing by. 
She held a newspaper in her hand. The spot was one quite 
hemmed in from observation, a fact of which she seemed to be 
quite aware. 

“ I have something to tell you,” she said ; “ something 
important. But you are so occupied with that old stone that I 
am obliged to wait.” 

“ It is not true surely ! ”he said, looking at the paper. 

“ No, look here,” she said, holding up the sheet. It was not 
what he had supposed, but a new one — the local rival to that 
which had contained the announcement, and was still damp 
from the press. She pointed, and he read : 


222 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ We are authorised to state that there is no foundation 
whatever for the assertion of our contemporary that a marriage 
is likely to be arranged between Captain De Stancy and Miss 
Power of Stancy Castle.” 

Somerset pressed her hand, and spoke his feelings not by 
language, but by the more pathetic vehicle of eyes. “ It dis- 
turbed me,” he said, “ though I did not believe it.” 

“ It astonished me, as much as it disturbed you ; and I sent 
this contradiction at once.” 

“ How could it have got there ? ” 

She shook her head. 

“You have not the least knowledge ? ” 

“Not the least. I wish I had.” 

“ It was not from any friends of De Stancy’s ? or himself? ” 

“ It was not. His sister has ascertained beyond doubt that 
he knew nothing of it. Well, now, don’t say any more to me 
about the matter.” 

“ I’ll find out how it got into the paper.” 

“ Not now — any future time will do. I have something else 
to tell you.” 

“ I hope the news is as good as the last,” he said, looking 
into her face with anxiety ; for though that face was blooming, 
it seemed full of a doubt as to how her next information would 
be taken. 

“ Oh yes ; it is good, because everybody says so. We are 
going to take a delightful journey. My new-created uncle, as 
he seems, and I, and my aunt, and perhaps Charlotte, if she is 
well enough, are going to Nice, and other places about there.” 

“To Nice!” said Somerset, rather blankly. “And I must 
stay here ? ” 

“ Why, of course you must, considering what you have under- 
taken ! ” she said, looking with saucy composure into his eyes. 
“ My uncle’s reason for proposing the journey just now is, that 
he thinks the alterations will make residence here dusty and 
disagreeable during the spring. The opportunity of going with 
him is too good a one for us to lose, as I have never been 
there.” 

“ I wish I was going to be one of the party ! . . . What do 
you wish about it ? ” 

She shook her head impenetrably, “Who knows? Time 
will tell.” 


DE STANCY. 


223 


“ Are you really glad you are going, dearest?— as I ??iust call 
you just once,” said the young man, gazing earnestly into her 
face, which struck him as looking far too rosy and radiant to 
be consistent with ever so little regret at leaving him behind. 

“ I take great interest in foreign trips, especially to the shores 
of the Mediterranean ; and everybody makes a point of getting 
away when the house is turned out of the window.” 

“ But you do feel a little sadness, such as I should feel if our 
positions were reversed ? ” 

“ I think you ought not to have asked that so incredulously,” 
she murmured. “ VVe can be near each other in spirit, when 
our bodies are far apart, can we not ? ” Her tone grew softer 
and she drew a little closer to his side with a slightly nestling 
motion, as she went on, “ May I be sure that you will not think 
unkindly of me when I am absent from your sight, and not 
begrudge me any little pleasure because you are not there to 
share it with me ? ” 

“ May you ! Can you ask it ? ... As for me, I shall have 
no pleasure to be begrudged or otherwise. The only pleasure 
I have is, as you well know, in you. When you are with me, I 
am happy : when you are away, I take no pleasure in any- 
thing.” 

“ I don’t deserve it. I have no right to disturb you so,” she 
said, very gently. “ But I have given you some pleasure, have 
I not ? A little more pleasure than pain, perhaps ? ” 

“ You have, and yet. . . . But I don’t accuse you, dearest 
Yes, you have given me pleasure. One truly pleasant time was 
when we stood together in the summer-house on the evening of 
the garden-party, and you said you liked me to love you.” 

“ Yes, it was a pleasant time,” she returned thoughtfully. 
« How the rain came down, and formed a gauze between us 
and the dancers, did it not; and how afraid we were— at least 
X W as — lest anybody should discover us there, and how quickly 
I ran in after the rain was over ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Somerset, “ I remember it. But no harm came 
of it to you. . . . And perhaps no good will come of it to me.” 

“ Do not be premature in your conclusions, sir,” she said, 
archly. “ If you really do feel for me only half what you say, 
we shall — you will make good come of it— in some way or 
other.” 

“ Dear Paula — now J believe you, and can bear anything H 


224 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Then we will say no more ; because, as you recollect, we 
agreed not to go too far. No expostulations, for we are going 
to be practical young people ; besides, I won’t listen if you 
utter them. I simply echo your words, and say I, too, believe 
you. Now I must go. Rely on me, and don’t magnify trifles 
light as air.” 

“ I think I understand you. And if I do, it will make a great 
difference in my conduct. You will have no cause to com- 
plain.” 

“ Then you must not understand me so much as to make 
much difference ; for your conduct as my architect is perfect. 
But I must not linger longer, though I wished you to know this 
news from my very own lips.’ 

“ Bless you for it ! When do you leave ?” 

“ The day after to-morrow.” 

“ So early ? Does your uncle guess any tiling ? Do you wish 
him to be told just yet ? ” 

“ Yes, to the first ; no, to the second.” 

“ I may write to you ? ” 

“ On business, yes. It will be necessary.” 

“ How can you speak so at a time of parting ? ” 

“ Now, George — you see I say George, and not Mr. Somerset, 
and you may draw your own inference— don’t be so morbid in 
your reproaches ! I have informed you that you may write, or 
still better, telegraph, since the wire is so handy — on business. 
Well, of course, it is for you to judge whether you will add 
postscripts of another sort. There, you make me say more than 
a woman ought, because you are so obtuse and literal. Good 
afternoon — good-bye ! This will be my address.” 

She handed him a slip of paper, and was gone. 

Though he saw her again after this, it was during tl\e bustle 
of preparation, when there was always a third person present, 
usually in the shape of that breathing refrigerator, her uncle. 
Hence the few words that passed between them were of the 
most formal description, and chiefly concerned the restoration 
of the castle, and a church at Nice designed by him, which he 
wanted her to inspect. 

They were to leave by an early aft« moon train, and Somerset 
was invited to lunch on that day. The morning was occupied by 
a long business consultation in the studio with Mr. Power and 
Mrs. Goodman on what rooms were to be left locked up, what 


DE STANCY. 


225 


left in charge of the servants, and what thrown open to the 
builders and workmen under the surveillance of Somerset At 
present the work consisted mostly of repairs to existing rooms, 
so as to render those habitable which had long been used only 
as stores for lumber. Paula did not appear during this dis- 
cussion ; but when they were all seated in the dining-hall she 
came in dressed for the journey, and, to outward appearance, 
with blithe anticipation at its prospect blooming from every 
feature. Next to her came Charlotte De Stancy, still with 
some of the pallor of an invalid, but wonderfully brightened up, 
as Somerset thought, by the prospect of a visit to a delightful 
shore. It might have been this ; and it might have been that 
Somerset’s presence had a share in the change. 

It was in the hall, when they were in the bustle of leave- 
taking, that there occurred the only opportunity for the two or 
three private words with Paula to which his star treated him 
on that last day. His took the hasty form of, “ You will write 
soon ? ” 

•• Telegraphing will be quicker,” she answered in the same 
low tone ; and whispering “ Be true to me ! ” turned away. 

How unreasonable he was ! In addition to those words, 
warm as they were, he would have preferred a little paleness of 
cheek, or trembling of lip, instead of the bloom and the beauty 
which sat upon her undisturbed maidenhood, to tell him that 
in some slight way she suffered at his loss. 

Immediately after this they went to the carriages waiting at 
the door. Somerset, who had in a measure taken charge of the 
castle, accompanied them and saw them off, much as if they 
were his visitors. She stepped in, a general adieu was spoken, 
and she was gone. 

While the carriages rolled away, he ascended to the top of 
the tower, where he saw them lessen to spots on the road, and 
turn the corner out of sight. The chances of a rival seemed to 
grow in proportion as Paula receded from his side; but he 
could not have answered why. He had bidden her and her 
relatives adieu on her own doorstep, like a privileged friend of 
the family, while De Stancy had scarcely seen her since the 
play-night. That the silence into which the captain appeared 
to have sunk was the placidity of conscious power, derived 
from sources that Somerset knew not of, was scarcely probable ; 
yet that adventitious aids existed for De Stancy he could not 

Q 


226 


A LAODICEAN. 


deny. The link formed by Charlotte between De Stancy and 
Paula, much as he liked the ingenuous girl, was one that he could 
have wished away. It constituted a bridge of access to Paula’s 
inner life and feelings which nothing could rival ; except that 
one fact which, as he firmly believed, did actually rival it, 
giving him faith and hope; his own primary occupation of 
Paula’s heart. Moreover, Mrs. Goodman would be an influence 
favourable to himself and his cause during the journey ; though, 
to be sure, to set against her there was the phlegmatic and 
obstinate Abner Power, in whom, apprised by those subtle 
media of intelligence which lovers possess, he fancied he saw 
no friend. 

Somerset remained but a short time at the castle that day. 
The light of its chambers had fled, the gross grandeur of the 
dictatorial towers oppressed him, and the studio was hateful. 
He remembered a promise ma.de long ago to Mr. Woodwell ot 
calling upon him some afternoon ; and a visit which had not 
much attractiveness in it at other times recommended itself 
now, through being the one possible way open to him of hearing 
Paula named and her doings talked of, this being a turn the 
discussion would inevitably take. Hence in walking back to 
Markton, instead of going up the High Street, he turned aside 
into the unfrequented footway that led to the minister’s cottage. 

Mr. Woodwell was not indoors at the moment of his call, 
and Somerset lingered at the doorway, and cast his eyes around. 
It was a house which typified the drearier tenets pf its occupier 
with great exactness. It stood upon its spot of earth without 
any natural union with it : no mosses disguised the stiff straight 
line where wall met earth ; not a creeper softened the aspect 
of the bare front. The garden walk was strewn with loose 
clinkers from the neighbouring foundry, which rolled under the 
pedestrian’s foot and jolted his soul out of him before he 
reached the porchless door. But all was clean, and clear, and 
dry. 

Whether Mr. Woodwell was personally responsible for this 
condition of things, or whether it resulted from a landlord’s 
taste, unchallenged by a preoccupied tenant, there was not 
time to closely consider, for at this minute Somerset perceived 
the minister coming up the walk towards him. Mr. Woodwell 
welcomed him heartily ; and yet with the mien of a man whose 
mind has scarcely dismissed some scene which has preceded 


DE STANCY. 


227 

the one that confronts him. What that scene was soon 
transpired. 

“ I have had a busy afternoon,” said the minister, as they 
walked indoors ; “ or rather an exciting afternoon. Your client 
at Stancy Castle, whose relative, as I imagine you know, has 
so unexpectedly returned, has left with him to-day for the south 
of France ; and I wished to ask her before her departure some 
questions as to how a charity* organised by her father war, to be 
administered in her absence. But I have been very unfor- 
tunate. She could not find time to see me at her own house, 
and I awaited her at the station, all to no purpose, owing to 
the presence of her friends. Well, well, I must see if a letter 
will find her.” 

Somerset asked if anybody of the neighbourhood was there 
to see them off. 

“ Yes, that was the trouble of it Captain De Stancy was 
there, and quite monopolised her. I don’t know what ’tis 
coming to, and perhaps I have no business to inquire, since 
she is scarcely a member of our church now. Who could have 
anticipated the daughter of my old friend John Power de- 
veloping into the ordinary gay woman of. the world as she has 
done ? Who could have expected her to associate with people 
who show contempt for their Maker’s intentions by flippantly 
assuming other characters than those in which He created 
them ? ” 

“ You mistake her,” murmured Somerset, in a voice which he 
vainly endeavoured to attune to philosophy. “ Miss Power 
has some very rare and beautiful qualities in her nature, though 
I confess I tremble — fear lest the De Stancy influence should 
be too strong.” 

“ Sir, it is already 1 Do you remember my telling you that 
I thought the force of her surroundings would obscure the pure 
daylight of her spirit, as a monkish window of coloured images 
attenuates the rays of God’s sun ? I do not wish to indulge in 
rash surmises, but her oscillation from her family creed of 
Calvinistic truth towards the traditions of the De Stancys has 
been so decided, though so gradual, that — well, I may be 
wrong.” 

“ That what ? ” said the young man sharply. 

“I sometimes think she will take to her as husband the 
present representative of that impoverished line— Captain De 

Q 2 


228 


A LAODICEAN. 


Stancy — which she may easily do, if she chooses, as his 
behaviour to-day showed.” 

“ He was probably there on account of his sister,” said 
Somerset, trying to escape the mental picture of farewell 
gallantries bestowed on Paula. 

“ It was hinted at in the papers the other day.” 

“ And it was flatly contradicted.” 

“Yes. Well, we shall see in the Lord’s good time ; I can 
do no more for her. And now, Mr. Somerset, pray take a cup 
of tea.” 

The discovery that De Stancy had enjoyed the coveted 
privilege of seeing the last of her, coupled with the other words 
of the minister, depressed Somerset a little, and he did not 
stay long. As he went to the door Woodwell said, “ There is 
a worthy man — the deacon of our chapel, Mr. Havill — who 
would like to be friendly with you. Poor man, since the death 
of his wife he seems to have something on his mind — some 
trouble which my words will not reach. If ever you are 
passing his door, please give him a look in. He fears that 
calling on you might be an intrusion.” 

Somerset did not clearly promise, and went his way. The 
minister's allusion to the mysterious announcement of the 
marriage reminded Somerset that she had expressed a wish to 
know how the paragraph came to be inserted. The wish had 
been but carelessly spoken ; but so telling was the vacancy 
caused by her absence that any deed relating to her was 
attended with a sad satisfaction, and he went to the newspaper 
office to make inquiries on the point. 

The reply was unexpected. The reporter informed his 
questioner that in returning from the theatricals, at which he 
was present, he shared a fly homeward with a gentleman who 
assured him that such an alliance was certain, so obviously 
did it recommend itself to all concerned, as a means of 
strengthening both families. The gentleman’s knowledge of 
the Powers was so precise that the reporter did not hesitate to 
accept his assertion. He was a man who had seen a great 
deal of the world, and his face was noticeable for the seams 
and scars on it. 

Somerset recognised Paula’s uncle in the portrait. 

Hostilities, then, were beginning. The paragraph had been 
meant as the first slap. Taking her abroad was the second 


C 229 ) 


BOOK THE FOURTH. 

SOMERSET, DARE, AND DE STANCY. 


CHAPTER I. 

There was no part of Paula’s journey in which Somerset did 
not think of her. He imagined her in the hotel at Havre, in 
her brief rest at Paris ; her drive past the Place de la Bastille 
to the Boulevart Mazas to take the train for Lyons ; her 
tedious progress through the dark of a winter night till she 
crossed the isothermal line which told of the beginning of a 
southern atmosphere, and onwards to the ancient blue sea. 

Thus, between the hours devoted to architecture, he passed 
the next three days. One morning he set himself, by the help 
of John, to practise on the telegraph instrument, expecting a 
message. But though he watched the machine at every 
opportunity, or kept some other person on the alert in its 
neighbourhood, no message arrived to gratify him till after the 
lapse of nearly a fortnight. Then she spoke from her new 
habitation nine hundred miles away, in these meagre words : 

“ Are settled at the address given. Can now attend to any 
inquiry about the building." 

The pointed implication that she could attend to inquiries 
about nothing else, breathed of the veritable Paula so distinctly 
that he could forgive its sauciness. His reply was soon 
despatched : 

“ Will write particulars of our progress. Ahuays the same." 
The last three words formed the sentimental appendage which 
she had assured him she could tolerate, and which he hoped 
she might desire. 

He spent the remainder of the day in making a little sketch 
to show what had been done in the castle since her departure. 


230 


A LAODICEAN. 


This he despatched with a letter of explanation ending in a 
paragraph of a different tenor : 

“ I have demonstrated our progress as well as I could ; but 
another subject has been in my mind, even whilst writing the 
former. Ask yourself if you use me well in keeping me a fort- 
night before you so much as say that you have arrived ? The 
one thing that reconciled me to your departure was the thought 
that I should hear early from you : my idea of being able to 
submit to your absence was based entirely upon that. 

“ But I have resolved not to be out of humour, and to believe 
that your scheme of reserve is not unreasonable ; neither do I 
quarrel with your injunction to keep silence to all relatives. I 
do not know anything I can say to show you more plainly my 
acquiescence in your wish ‘ not to go too far ’ (in short, to keep 
yourself dear — by dear I mean not cheap — you have been dear 
in the other sense a long time, as you know), than by not urging 
you to go a single degree further in warmth than you please.” 

When this was posted he again turned his attention to hei 
walls and towers, which indeed were a dumb consolation in 
many ways for the lack of herself. There was no nook in the 
castle to which he had not access or could not easily obtain 
access by applying for the keys, and this propinquity of things 
belonging to her served to keep her image before him even 
more constantly than his memories would have done. 

Three days and a half after the despatch of his subdued 
effusion the telegraph called to tell him the good news that 

“ Your letter and drawing are just received. Thanks for the 
latter. Will reply to the former by post this afternoon .” 

It was with cheerful patience that he attended to his three 
draughtsmen in the studio, or walked about the environs of the 
fortress during the fifty hours spent by her presumably tender 
missive on the road. A light fleece of snow fell during the 
second night of waiting, inverting the position of long-estab- 
lished lights and shades, and lowering to a dingy grey the 
approximately white walls of other weathers ; he could trace 
the postman’s footmarks as he entered over the bridge, know- 
ing them by the dot of his walking-stick : on entering the 
expected letter was waiting upon his table. He looked at its 
direction with glad curiosity; it was the first letter he had 
ever received from her. 


SOMERSET , DARE, AND DE STANCY. 


231 


Hotel , Nice, Feb. 14. 

“ My dear Mr. Somerset,” (the “ George,” then, to which 
she had so kindly treated him in her last conversation, was 
not to be continued in black and white :) 

“Your letter explaining the progress of the work, aided by 
the sketch enclosed, gave me as clear an idea of the advance 
made since my departure as I could have gained by being 
present. I feel every confidence in you, and am quite sure 
the restoration is in good hands. In this opinion both my 
aunt and my uncle coincide. Please act entirely on your own 
judgment in everything, and as soon as you give a certificate 
to the builders for the first instalment of their money it will be 
promptly sent by my solicitors. 

“You bid me ask myself if I have used you well in not 
sending intelligence of myself till a fortnight after I had left 
you. Now, George, don’t be unreasonable! Let me remind 
you that, as a certain apostle said, there are a thousand 
things lawful which are not expedient. I say this, not from 
pride in my own conduct, but to offer you a very fair explan- 
ation of it. Your resolve not to be out of humour with me 
suggests that you have been sorely tempted that way, else why 
should such a resolve have been necessary ? 

“ if you only knew what passes in my mind sometimes you 
would perhaps not be so ready to blame. Shall I tell you ? 
No. For, if it is a great emotion, it may afford you a cruel 
satisfaction at finding I suffer through separation ; and if it be a 
growing indifference to you, it will be inflicting gratuitous 
unhappiness upon you to say so, if you care for me ; as I 
sometimes think you may do a little.” 

(“ Oh, Paula ! ” said Somerset.) 

“ Please which way would you have it ? But it is better that 
you should guess at what I*feel than that you should distinctly 
know it. Notwithstanding this assertion you will, I know, 
adhere to your first prejudice in favour of prompt confessions. 
In spite of that, I fear that upon trial such promptness would 
not produce that happiness which your fancy leads you to expect. 
Your heart would weary in time, and when once that happens, 
good-bye to the emotion you have told me of. Imagine such 
a case clearly and you will perceive the probability of what I 
say. At the same time I admit that a woman who is only a 
creature of evasions and disguises is very disagreeable. 


23 2 


A LAODICEAN 


“ Do not write very frequently, and never write at all unless 
you have some real information about the castle works to com- 
municate. I will explain to you on another occasion why I 
make this request. You will possibly set it down as additional 
evidence of my cold-heartedness. If so you must. Would you 
also mind writing the business letter on an independent sheet, 
with a proper beginning and ending? Whether you inclose 
another sheet is of course optional. 

“ Sincerely yours, 

“ Paula Power.” 

Somerset had a suspicion that her order to him not to 
neglect the business letter was to escape any invidious remarks 
from her uncle. He wished she would be more explicit, so 
that he mi^ht know exactly how matters stood with them, and 
whether Abner Power had ever ventured to express disapproval 
of him as her lover. 

But not knowing, he waited anxiously for a new architectural 
event on which he might legitimately send her another line. 
This occurred about a week later, when the men engaged in 
digging foundations discovered remains of old ones which war- 
ranted a modification of the original plan. He accordingly 
sent off his professional advice on the point, requesting her 
assent or otherwise to the amendment, winding up the inquiry 
with “ Yours faithfully.” On another sheet he wrote : 

“ Do you suffer from any unpleasantness in the manner of 
others on account of me ? If so, inform me, Paula. I cannot 
otherwise interpret your request for the separate sheets. 
While on this point I will tell you what I have learnt relative 
to the authorship of that false paragraph about your engage- 
ment. It was communicated to ‘the paper by your uncle. 
Was the wish father to the thought, or could he have been 
misled, as many were, by appearances at the theatricals ? 

“ If I am not to write to you without a professional reason, 
surely you can write to me without such an excuse ? When 
you write tell me of yourself. There is nothing I so much 
wish to hear of. Write a great deal about your daily doings, 
for my mind’s eye keeps those sweet operations more distinctly 
before me than my bodily sight does my own. 

“ You say nothing of having been to look at the chapel-of- 


SOMERSET , DARE , ^ZVZ> STANCY. 


233 


ease I told you of, the plans of which I made when an 
architect’s pupil, working in mbtres instead of feet and inches, 
to my immense perplexity, that the drawings might be under- 
stood by the foreign workmen. Go there and tell me what 
you think of its design. I can assure you that every curve 
thereof is my own. 

“ How I wish you would invite me to run over and see you, 
if only for a day or two, for my heart runs after you in a most 
distracted manner. Dearest, you entirely fill my life ! But I 
forget ; we have resolved not to go very far. But the fact is I 
am half afraid lest, with such reticence, you should not remem- 
ber how very much I am yours, and with what a dogged con- 
stancy I shall always remember you. Paula, sometimes I have 
horrible misgivings that something will divide us, especially if 
we do not make a more distinct show of our true relationship. 
True do I say? I mean the relationship which I think 
exists between us, but which you do not affirm too clearly. — 
Yours always.” 

Away southward like the swallow went the tender lines. 
He wondered if she would notice his hint of being ready to pay 
her a flying visit, if permitted to do so. His fancy dwelt on 
that further side of France, the very contours of whose shore 
were now lines of beauty for him. He prowled in the library, 
and found interest in the mustiest facts relating to that place, 
learning with aesthetic pleasure that the number of its popula- 
tion was fifty thousand, that the mean temperature of its 
atmosphere was 6o° Fahrenheit, and that the peculiarities of a 
mistral were far from agreeable. 

He waited over long for her reply ; but it ultimately came. 
After the usual business preliminary, she said : — 

“ As requested, I have visited the little church you designed. 
It gave me great pleasure to stand before a building whose 
outline and details hid come from the brain of such a valued 
friend and adviser.” 

(“ Valued friend and adviser,” repeated Somerset critically.) 

“ I like the style much, especially that of the windows — 
Early English are they not ? I am going to attend service 
there next Sunday, because you were the architect, and for no 
godly reason at all. Does that content you? Fie for your 


234 


A LAODICEAN. 


despondency ! Remember M. Aurelius : ‘ This is the chief 

thing : Be not perturbed ; for all things are of the nature of the 
Universal.' Indeed I am a little surprised at your having fore- 
bodings, after my assurance to you before I left. I have none. 
My opinion is that, to be happy, it is best to think that, as we 
are the product of events, events will continue to produce that 
which is in harmony with us. . . . You are too faint-hearted, 
and that’s the truth of it I advise you not to abandon 
yourself to idolatry too readily ; you know what I mean. It 
fills me with remorse when I think how very far below such a 
position my actual worth removes me. 

“ I should like to receive another letter from you as soon as 
you have got over the misgiving you speak of, but don’t write 
too soon. I wish I could write anything to raise your spirits, 
but you may be so perverse that if, in order to do this, I tell 
you of the races, routs, scenery, gaieties, and gambling going on 
in this place and neighbourhood (into which of course I cannot 
help being a little drawn), you may declare that my words 
make you worse than ever. Don’t pass the line I have set 
down in the way you were tempted to do in your last ; and not 
too many Dearests — at least as yet. This is not a time for 
effusion. You have my very warm affection, and that’s enough 
for the present.” 

As a love-letter this missive was tantalising enough, but 
since its form was simply a continuation of what she had 
practised before she left, and not a change from that practice, 
it produced no undue misgiving in him. Far more was he 
impressed by her omitting to answer the two important 
questions he had put to her. First, concem'ing her uncle’s 
attitude towards them, and his conduct in giving such strange 
information to the reporter. Second, on his, Somerset’s, paying 
her a flying visit some time during the spring. But he was not 
the man to force opinion on these points, or on any others ; 
and since she had requested it, he made no haste in his reply. 
When penned, it ran in the words subjoined, which, in common 
with every line of their correspondence, acquired from the 
strangeness of subsequent circumstances an interest and a force 
that perhaps they did not intrinsically possess. 

“ People cannot ” (he wrote) “ be for ever in good spirits on 
this gloomy side of the Channel, even though you seem to be 


SOMERSET ; DARE , ,4 AT) STANCY. 235 

so on yours. However, that I can abstain from letting you 
know whether my spirits are good or otherwise, I will prove in 
our future correspondence. I admire you more and more, 
both for the warm feeling towards me which I firmly believe 
you have, and for your ability to main tain side by side with it 
so much dignity and resolution with regard to foolish sentiment. 
Sometimes I think I could have put up with a * little more 
weakness if it had brought with it a little more tenderness, but 
I dismiss all that when I mentally survey your other qualities. 
I have thought of fifty things to say to you of the too far sort, 
not one of any other ; so that your prohibition is very unfor- 
tunate, for by it I am doomed to say things that do not rise 
spontaneously to my lips. You say that our shut-up feelings 
are not to be mentioned yet. How long is the yet to last ? 

“ But, to speak more solemnly, matters grow very serious 
with us, Paula — at least with me : and there are times when 
this restraint is really unbearable. It is possible to put up 
with reserve and circumspection when the reserved and 
circumspect being is by one’s side, for the eyes may reveal what 
the lips do not. But when absence is superadded, what was 
piquancy becomes harshness, tender railleries become cruel 
sarcasm, and tacit understandings misunderstandings. How- 
ever that may be, you shall never be able to reproach me for 
touchiness. I still esteem you as a friend ; I admire you and 
love you as a woman. This I shall always continue to do, how- 
ever undemonstrative and unconfiding you prove.” 


CHAPTER II. 

Without knowing it, Somerset was drawing near to a crisis 
in this soft correspondence which would speedily put his asser- 
tions to the test ; but the knowledge came upon him soon 
enough for his peace. 

Her next letter, dated March 9th, was the shortest of all he 
had received, and beyond the portion devoted to the building- 
works it contained only the following sentences : — 

“I am almost angry with you, George, for being vexed 


236 


A LAODICEAN. 


because I am not more effusive. Why should the verbal 1 
love you be ever uttered between two beings of opposite sex who 
have eyes to see signs ? During the seven or eight months that 
we have known each other, you have discovered my regard for 
you, and what more can you desire? Would a reiterated 
assertion of passion really do any good ? Remember it is a 
natural instinct with us women to retain the power of obliging 
a man to hope, fear, pray, and beseech as long as we think fit, 
before we confess to a reciprocal affection. 

“ I am now going to own to a weakness about which I had 
intended to keep silent. It will not perhaps add to your 
respect for me. My uncle, whom in many ways I like, is 
displeased with me for keeping up this correspondence so 
regularly. I am quite perverse enough to venture to disregard 
his feelings ; but considering the relationship, and his kindness 
in other respects, I should prefer not to do so at present 
Honestly speaking, I want the courage to resist him in some 
things. He said to me the other day that he was very much 
surprised that I did not depend upon his judgment for my 
future happiness. Whether that meant much or little, I have 
resolved to communicate with you only by telegrams for the 
remainder of the time we are here. Please reply by the same 
means only. There, now, don’t flush and call me names ! It 
is for the best, and we want no nonsense, you and I. Dear 
George, I feel more than I say, and if I do not speak more 
plainly, you will understand what is behind after all I have 
hinted. I can promise you that you will not like me less upon 
knowing me better. Hope ever. I would give up a good 
deal for you. Good-bye ! ” 

This brought Somerset some cheerfulness and a good deal 
of gloom. He silently reproached her, who was apparently so 
independent, for lacking independence in such a vital matter. 
Perhaps it was mere sex, perhaps it was peculiar to a few, that 
her independence and courage, like Cleopatra’s, failed her 
occasionally at the last moment. 

One curious impression which had often haunted him now 
returned with redoubled force. IIe could not see himself as 
the husband of Paula Power in any likely future. He could 
not imagine her his wife. People were apt to run into mistakes 
in their presentiments ; but though he could p/cture her as 


SOMERSET , DARE , yfWD DE STANCY. 


237 


queening it over him, as avowing her love for him unreservedly, 
even as compromising herself for him, he could not see her in 
a state of domesticity with him. 

Telegrams being commanded, to the telegraph he repaired, 
when, after two days, an immediate wish to communicate with 
her led him to dismiss vague conjecture on the future situation. 
His first telegram took the following form : — 

“ I give up the letter writing. I will part with anything to 
please you but yourself . Your comfort with your relative is the 
first thing to be considered: not for the world do I wish you to 
make divisions within doors. Yours.” 

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday passed, and on Saturday a 
telegram came in reply : — 

“ I can fear, grieve at, and complain of nothing, having your 
nice promise to consider my comfort always.” 

This was very pretty ; but it admitted little. Such short 
messages were in themselves poor substitutes for letters, but 
their speed and easy frequency were good qualities which the 
letters did not possess. Three days later he replied : — 

“ You do not once say to me 1 Cornel Would such a strajige 
accident as my arrival disturb you much.” 

She replied rather quickly : — 

“ I am indisposed to answer you too clearly. Keep your heart 
strong: } tis a censorious world.” 

The vagueness there shown made Somerset peremptory, and 
he could not help replying somewhat more impetuously than 
usual : — 

“ Why do you give me so much cause for anxiety / Why treat 
me to so much mystification l Say once, distinctly , that what 1 
have asked is giveti.” 

He waited for the answer, one day, two days, a week ; but 
none came. It was now the end of March, and when Somerset 
walked of an afternoon by the river and pool in the lower part 
of the grounds, his ear newly greeted by the small voices of 
frogs and toads and other creatures who had been torpid 
through the winter, he became doubtful and uneasy that she 
alone should be silent in the awakening year. 

He waited through a second week, and there was still no reply. 
It was possible that the urgency of his request had tempted 
her to punish him, and he continued his walks, to, fro, and 


238 


A LAODICEAN. 


around, with as close an ear to the undertones of nature, and 
as attentive an eye to the charms of his own art, as the grand 
passion would allow. Now came the days of battle between 
winter and spring. On these excursions, though spring was to 
the forward during the daylight, winter would reassert itself at 
night, and not unfrequently at other moments. Tepid airs and 
nipping breezes met on the confines of sunshine and shade ; 
trembling raindrops that were still akin to frost crystals dashed 
themselves from the bushes as he pursued his way from town to 
castle ; the birds were like an orchestra waiting for the signal to 
strike up, and colour began to enter into the country round. 

But he gave only a modicum of thought to these proceedings. 
He rather thought such things as, “ She can afford to be saucy, 
and to find a source„of blitheness in my attachment, considering 
the power that wealth gives her to pick and choose almost where 
she will.” He was bound to own, however, that one of the 
chirms of her conversation was the complete absence of the 
note of the heiress from its accents. That, other things equal, 
her interest would naturally incline to a person bearing the 
name of De Stancy, was evident from her avowed predilections. 
His original assumption, that she was a personification of the 
modem spirit, who had been dropped, like a seed from the bill 
of a bird, into a chink of mediaevalism, required some qualifica- 
tion. It had been based on her bold flights of thought, and her 
original innovations. But romanticism, which will exist in 
every human breast as long as human nature itself exists, had 
asserted itself in her. Veneration for things old, not because 
of any merit in them, but because of their long continuance, 
had developed in her; and her modern spirit was taking to itself 
wings and flying away. Whether his image was flying with the 
other was a question which moved him all the more deeply now 
that her silence gave him dread of an affirmative answer. 

But he refused to give credit for more than brief spaces to 
those signs which at other moments convinced him that her 
passing fancy for him was declining like a summer day. Like 
other emotional natures, he was much more disposed to abandon 
himself blindly to his own passion than to reason out the grounds 
of a waning in hers. 

For another seven days he stoically left in suspension all 
forecasts of his possibly grim fate in being the employed and 
not the beloved. The week passed : he telegraphed : there was 


SOMERSET ; DARE, AND DE STANCY. 239 

no reply : he had sudden fears for her personal safety and 
resolved to break her command by writing. 

“Stancy Castle, April 13. 

“ Dear Paula, 

“ Are you ill or in trouble ? It is impossible in the 
very unquiet state you have put me into by your silence that I 
should abstain from writing. Without affectation, you sorely 
distress me, and I think you would hardly have done it could 
you know what a degree of anxiety you cost me. All the mis- 
givings I had at your parting are nothing to those I feel since 
you have ceased to communicate. Why, Paula, do you not 
write or send to me ? What have I done that you should treat 
me thus ? Do write, if it is only to reproach me. I am com- 
pelled to pass the greater part of the day in this castle, which 
reminds me constantly of you, and yet eternally lacks your 
presence. To be honest in my supervision of what I have 
undertaken for you I must stay here, and the possibility of soft- 
ening my disquietude by change of scene is thus denied me. 
I am unfortunate indeed that you have not been able to find 
half an hour during the last month to tell me at least that you 
are alive. How much misery would you not have saved me 
had you, when I first knew you, but shown as little tenderness as, 
according to appearances, you have latterly felt for me. You 
have always been ambiguous, it is true; but I thought I read 
encouragement in your eyes ; encouragement certainly was in 
your eyes, and who would not have been deluded by them and 
have believed them sincere ? You charmed me by the sweetness 
of your manners, and my violent inclination led me on. The 
consequences of a love which, at the beginning was so pleasant 
and blissful, are now a ruinous disgust with everything I used 
to take an interest in, and I cannot say where it will end. 

“ You may say that in loving you, and being encouraged by 
you for a time, I have enjoyed transcendent pleasures, which 
are a fair return without further expectations. But consider 
what a price I pay for them now 1 Ask yourself if I may not 
pay too dearly. Had I resisted you ; had I exerted my reason in 
opposition to the predilection I felt for you, then you might have 
had a right to punish me. But I did no such thing. There 
may, of course, be some deliberate scheming on the part of your 
relatives to intercept our communications ; but I cannot think it 


240 


A LAODICEAN . 


I know that the housekeeper has received a letter from youi 
aunt this very week, in which she incidentally mentions that all 
are well, and in the nme place as before. How then can I 
excuse you ? 

“ Then write, Paula, or at least telegraph, as you proposed. 
Otherwise I am resolved to take your silence as a signal for dis- 
continuing our avowals, to treat your fair words as wind, and to 
write to you no more.” 


CHAPTER III. 

He despatched the letter, and half an hour afterwards felt sure 
that it would mortally offend her. But he had now reached a 
state of temporary indifference, and could contemplate the loss 
of such a tantalising property with reasonable calm. 

In the interim of waiting for a reply he was one day walking 
to Markton, when, passing Myrtle Villa, he saw Sir William De 
Stancy - ambling about his garden-path and examining the 
crocuses that palisaded its edge. Sir William saw him and 
asked him to come in. Somerset was in the mood for any 
diversion from his own affairs, and they seated themselves by 
the drawing-room fire. 

“ I am much alone now,” said Sir William, “ and if the 
weather were not very mild, so that I can get out into the 
garden every day, I should feel it a great deal.” 

“ You allude to your daughter’s absence ?” 

“ And my son’s. Strange to say, I do not miss her so much 
as I miss him. She offers to return at any moment ; but I do 
not wish to deprive her of the advantages of a little foreign 
travel with her friend. Always, Mr. Somerset, give your spare 
time to foreign countries, especially those which contrast with 
your own in topography, language, and art. That’s my advice to 
all young people of your age. Don’t waste your money on 
expensive amusements at home. Practise the strictest economy 
at home, to have a margin for going abroad.” 

Economy, which Sir William had never practised, but to 
which, after exhausting all other practices, he now raised an 
altar, as the Athenians did to the unknown God, was a topic 


SOMERSET ; DARE , £>.£ STANCY. 


241 


likely to prolong itself on the baronet’s lips, and Somerset 
contrived to interrupt him by asking : 

“ Captain De Stancy, too, has gone ? Has the artillery, then, 
left the barracks ? ” 

“ No,” said Sir William. “ But my son has made use of his 
leave in running over to see his sister at Nice.” 

The current of quiet meditation in Somerset changed to a 
busy whirl at this unexpected reply. Here was the key to her 
silence. That Paula should become indifferent to his existence 
from a sense of superiority, physical, spiritual, or social, was a 
sufficiently ironical thing ; but that she should have relinquished 
him because of the presence of a rival fired him with indig- 
nation. 

Sir William, noting nothing, continued in the tone of clever 
childishness which characterised him : “ It is very singular 
how the present situation has been led up to by me. Policy, 
and policy alone, has been the rule of my conduct for many 
years past ; and when I say that I have saved my family by it, 
I believe time will show that I am within the truth. I hope 
you don’t let your passions outrun your policy, as so many 
young men are apt to do. Better be poor and politic, than 
rich and headstrong : that’s the opinion of an old man. 
However, I was going to say that it was purely from 
policy that I allowed a friendship to develop between my 
daughter and Miss Power, and now events are proving the 
wisdom of my course. Straws show how the wind blows, and 
there are little signs that my son Captain De Stancy will return 
to Stancy Castle by the fortunate step of marrying its owner. I 
say nothing to either of them, and they say nothing to me ; but 
my wisdom lies in doing nothing to hinder such a consummation, 
despite inherited prejudices.” 

Somerset had quite time enough to rein himself in during the 
old gentleman’s locution, and the voice in which he answered 
was so cold and reckless that it did not seem his own : “ But 
how will they live happily together when she is a dissenter, and 
a radical, and a New-light, and a Neo-Greek, and a person of 
red blood ; while Captain De Stancy is the reverse of them all ! ” 

“ I anticipate no difficulty on that score,” said the baronet. 

“ My son’s star lies in that direction, and, like the Magi, he is 
following it without trifling with his opportunity. You have 
skill in architecture, therefore you follow it. My son has skill 
in gallantry, and now he is about to profitably exercise it” 

E 


*42 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ May nobody wish him more harm in that exercise than I 
do 1 ” said Somerset fervently. 

A stagnant moodiness of several hours which followed his 
visit to Myrtle Villa, and the intelligence there acquired, 
resulted in a temper to which he had been warming for some 
time. It was to journey over to Paula the very next day, and 
unravel the whole mystery face to face with her. He now felt 
perfectly convinced that the inviting of Captain De Stancy to 
visit them at Nice was a second stage in the scheme of Paula’s 
uncle, the premature announcement of her marriage having 
been the first. Somerset was not so blinded by his heart but 
that he could see what an attraction the union would have for 
a frigid calculator whose thoughts were like geometrical 
diagrams. The roundness and neatness of the whole plan 
could not fail to recommend it to the mind which delighted in 
putting involved things straight, and such a mind Abner 
Power’s seemed to be. In fact, the felicity, in a politic sense, 
of pairing the captain with the heiress furnished no little excuse 
for manoeuvring to bring it about, so long as that manoeuvring 
fell short of unfairness, which Mr. Power’s could scarcely be 
said to do. 

The next day was spent in furnishing the builders with such 
instructions as they might require for a coining week or ten days, 
and in dropping a short note to Paula ; ending as follows : — 

“ I am coming to see you. Possibly you will refuse me an 
interview. Never mind, I am coming. — Yours, 

“G. Somerset.** 

The morning after that he was up and away. Between him 
and Paula stretched nine hundred miles by the line of journey 
that he found it necessary to adopt, namely, the way of London, 
in order to inform his father of his movements and to make 
one or two business calls. The afternoon was passed in 
attending to these matters, the night in speeding onward, and 
by the time that nine o’clock sounded next morning through 
the sunless and leaden air of the English Channel coasts, he 
had reduced the number of miles on his list by two hundred, and 
cut off the sea from the impediments between him and Paula. 

Although his haste had involved an unpleasant night-passage 
he did not wait for rest, pressing onward at once to Paris, which 
he reached about noon. At present it was not the blithe and 


SOMERSET ; DARE, AND DE STANCY. 


243 


beautiful city that it had formerly been to him, but a stage 
marking three hundred and fifty miles as the number cleared oft 
his score. He dined at an hotel without waiting for the regular 
table d’hote, and about seven o’clock the same evening moved 
out of Paris on his southerly course, up the valley of the Seine 
and through the vine slopes of Burgundy. On awakening from 
a fitful sleep in the grey dawn of the next morning he looked 
out upon the great city whose name associates silk, in the 
fantastic imagination, with some of the ghastliest atrocities, 
Protestant, Catholic, and revolutionary, that the civilised world 
has beheld. But all in Lyons was quiet enough now, the citizens 
being unaroused as yet even to the daily round of bread- winning, 
and enveloped in a haze of fog. 

Six hundred and fifty miles of his journey had now been got 
over ; there still intervened two hundred and fifty between him 
and the end of suspense. When he thought of that he was 
disinclined to pause ; and pressed on by the same train, which 
set him down at Marseilles at mid-day. 

Here he considered. By going on to Nice that afternoon he 
would arrive at too late an hour to call upon her at the hotel 
the same evening : it would therefore be advisable to sleep in 
Marseilles and proceed the next morning to his journey’s end, 
so as to meet her in a brighter and more refreshed condition than 
he could boast of to-day. This he accordingly did, and leaving 
Marseilles the next morning about eight, found himself at Nice 
early in the afternoon. 

Now that he was actually at the centre of his gravitation he 
seemed even further away from a feasible meeting with her than 
in England. While afar off, his presence at Nice had appeared 
to be the one thing needful for the solution of his trouble, but 
the very house fronts seemed now to ask him what right he had 
there. Unluckily, in writing from England, he had not allowed 
her time to reply before his departure, so that he did not know 
what difficulties might lie in the way of her seeing him privately. 
Before deciding what to do, he walked down the Avenue de la 
Gare to the promenade between the shore and the Jardin Public, 
and sat down to think. 

. The hotel which she had given him as her address looked 
right out upon him and the sea beyond, and he rested there with 
the pleasing hope that her eyes might glance from a window 
and discover his form. Everthing in the scene was sunny and 
gay. Behind him in the gardens a band was playing ; before 

n 7 


244 


A LAODICEAN . 


him was the sea, the Great sea, the historical and original 
Mediterranean ; the sea of innumerable characters in history 
and legend that arranged themselves before him in a long 
f rieze of memories so diverse as to include both tineas and St. 
Paul. 

Northern eyes are not prepared on a sudden for the impact 
of such images of wannth and colour as meet them southward, 
or for the vigorous light that falls from the sky of this favoured 
shore. In any other circumstances the transparency and 
serenity of the air, the perfume of the sea, the radiant houses, 
the palms and flowers, would have acted upon Somerset as an 
enchantment, and wrapped him in a reverie ; but at present he 
only saw and felt these things as through a thick glass which 
kept out half their atmosphere. 

At last he made up his mind. He would take up his quarters 
at her hotel, and catch echoes of her and her people, to learn 
somehow if their attitude towards him as a lover were actually 
hostile, before formally encountering them. Under this crystal- 
line light, full of gaieties, sentiment, languor, seductiveness, and 
ready-made romance, the memory of a solitary unimportant man 
in the lugubrious North might have faded from her mind. 
He was only her hired designer. He was an artist ; but 
he had been engaged by her, and was not a volunteer; and 
she did not as yet know that he meant to accept no return 
for his labours but the pleasure of presenting them to her as a 
love-offering. 

So off he went at once towards the imposing building whither 
his letters had preceded him. Owing to a press of visitors there 
was a moment’s delay before he could be attended to at the 
bureau, and he turned to the large staircase that confronted him, 
momentarily hoping that her figure might descend. Her dress 
must indeed have brushed the carpeting of those steps scores 
of times. She must have gone in and out of this portico daily. 
He now went to the hostess at the desk, engaged his room, 
ordered his luggage to be sent for, and finally inquired for the 
party he sought. 

u They left Nice yesterday, monsieur,” replied madame. 

Was she quite sure, Somerset asked her ? 

Yes, she was quite sure. Two of the hotel carriages haa 
driven them to the station. 

Did she know where they had gone to ? 

This and other inquiries resulted in the information that they 


SOMERSET ; ZM/?£, Z)£ STANCY. 2^ 

had gone to the hotel at Monte Carlo; that how long they were 
going to stay there, and whether they were coming back again, 
was not known. His final question whether Miss Power had 
received a letter from England which must have arrived the day 
previous was answered in the affirmative. 

Somerset’s first and sudden resolve was to cancel his 
engagement to stay here for the night, and to follow on after 
them to the hotel named ; but he finally decided to make his 
immediate visit to Monte Carlo only a cautious reconnoitre, 
returning to Nice to sleep. 

Accordingly, af.er an early dinner, he again set forth through 
the broad Avenue de la Gare, and an hour on the coast railway 
brought him to the beautiful and sinister little spot to which the 
Power and De Stancy party had strayed in common with the 
rest of the frivolous throng. 

He assumed that their visit thither would be chiefly one of 
curiosity, and therefore not prolonged. This proved to be the 
case in even greater measure than he had anticipated. On 
inquiry at the hotel he learnt that they had stayed only one 
night, leaving a short time before his arrival, though it was 
believed that some of the party were still in the town. 

Somerset could not discover in which direction they had gone, 
and in a state of indecision he strolled into the gardens of 
the Casino, and looked out upon the sea. There it still lay, 
calm yet lively ; of an unmixed blue, yet variegated ; hushed, 
but articulate even to melodiousness. Everything about and 
around this coast appeared indeed jaunty, tuneful, and at ease, 
reciprocating with heartiness the rays of the splendid sun; 
everything, except himself. The palms and flowers on the 
terraces before him were undisturbed by a single cold breath. 
The marble- work of parapets and steps was unsplintered by 
frosts. The whole was like a conservatory with the sky for its 
dome. 

For want of other occupation he presently strolled round 
towards the public entrance to the Casino, and ascended the 
great staircase into the pillared hall. It was possible, after all, 
that after leaving the hotel and sending on their luggage they 
had taken another turn through the rooms, to follow by a 
later train. With more than curiosity, then, he scanned first 
the reading-rooms, only however to see not a face that he knew. 
He then crossed the vestibule to the gaming-tables. 


246 


A LAODICEAN. 


CHAPTER IV. 

Here he was confronted by a heated phantasmagoria of Uinced 
splendour and a high pressure of suspense that seemed to make 
the air quiver. A low whisper of conversation prevailed, which 
might probably have been not wrongly defined as the lowest 
note of social harmony. 

The people gathered at this negative* pole of industry had 
come from all civilised countries ; their tongues were familar 
with many forms of utterance, that of each racial group or type 
being unintelligible in its subtler variations, if not entirely, to 
the rest. But the language of meum and tuum they collectively 
comprehended without translation. In a half-charmed spell- 
bound state they had congregated in knots, standing, or sitting 
in hollow circles round the notorious oval tables marked with 
figures and lines. The eyes of all these sets of people were 
watching the Roulette. Somerset went from table to table, 
looking among the loungers rather than among the regular 
players, for faces, or at least for one face, which did not meet 
his gaze, there passing into his ears the while a confusion of 
sentences: “Messieurs, faites le jeu!” “Le jeu est-il fait?” 
“ Rien ne va plus ! ” “ Vingt-quatre.” “ Noir.” “ Pair et Passe,” 
from the lips of the croupiers. 

The suggestive charm which the centuries-old impersonality 
Gaming, rather than games and gamesters, had for Somerset, 
led him to loiter on even when his hope of meeting any of the 
Power and De Stancy party had vanished. As a non- 
participant in its profits and losses, fevers and frenzies, it had 
that stage effect upon his imagination which is usually exercised 
over those who behold Chance presented to them with 
spectacular piquancy without advancing far enough in its 
acquaintance to suffer from its ghastly reprisals and impish 
tricks. He beheld a hundred diametrically opposed wishes 
issuing from the murky intelligences around a table, and 
spreading down across each other upon the figured diagram 
in their midst, each to its own number. It was a network ol 
hopes; which at the announcement, “Sept, Rouge, Impair, 


SOMERSET , DARE , ^7VZ> £>£ STANCY. 


247 


et Manque,” disappeared like magic gossamer, to be replaced 
in a moment by new. That all the people there, including 
himself, could be interested in what to the eye of perfect reason 
was a somewhat monotonous thing — the property of numbers 
to recur at certain longer or shorter intervals in a machine 
con taining them — in other words, the blind groping after fraction 
of a result the whole of which was well known — was one 
testimony among many of the powerlessness of logic when 
confronted with imagination. In some of the gamblers there 
was an intenteness that reached the point of ferocity ; in others 
a feline patience that was even less admirable. But these 
symptoms were after all secondary. The broad aspect of nearly 
every one was that of well-mannered calm, and a cursory 
view of the faces alone would have discovered nothing strongly 
contrasting with those of a mixed congregation listening to a 
church sermon. If they were all worshippers of Belial, they 
seemed to find that word quite as sustaining as the blessed 
Mesopotamia and its kin. 

At this juncture our lounger discerned at one of the tables 
aDout the last person in the world he could have wished to 
encounter there. It was Dare, whom he had supposed to be a 
thousand miles off, hanging about the purlieus of Markton. 

Dare was seated beside a table in an attitude of application 
which seemed to imply that he had come early and engaged in 
this pursuit in a systematic manner. Somerset had never 
witnessed Dare and De Stancy together, neither had he heard 
of any engagement of Dare by the travelling party as artist, 
courier, or otherwise ; and yet it crossed his mind that Dare 
might have had something to do with them, or at least have 
seen them. This possibility was enough to overmaster 
Somerset’s reluctance to speak to the young man, and he did so 
as soon as an opportunity occurred. 

Dare’s face was as rigid and dry as if it had been encrusted 
with plaster, and he was like one turned into a computing 
machine which no longer had the power of feeling. He 
recognised Somerset as indifferently as if he had met him in 
the ward of Stancy Castle, and replying to his remarks by a 
word or two, concentrated on the game anew. 

“ Are you here alone ? ” said Somerset presently. 

“ Quite alone.” There was a silence, till Dare added, “ But 
I have seen some friends of yours.” He again became 
absorbed in the events of the table. Somerset retreated a few 


248 


A LAODICEAN . 


steps, and pondered the question whether Dare could know 
where they had gone. He disliked to be beholden to Dare 
for information, but he would, give a great deal to know. 
While pausing he watched Dare’s play. He staked only five- 
franc pieces, but it was done with an assiduity worthy of 
larger coin. At every half-minute or so he placed his money 
on a certain spot, and as regularly had the mortification 
of seeing it swept away by the croupier’s rake. After a while 
he varied his procedure. He risked his money, which from 
the look of his face seemed rather to have dwindled than in- 
creased, less recklessly against long odds than before. Leaving 
off backing numbers en plein , he laid his venture a cheval ; 
then tried it upon the dozens ; then upon two numbers ; then 
upon a square; and apparently getting nearer and nearer 
defeat, at last upon the simple chances of even or odd, over or 
under, red or black. Yet with a few fluctuations in his favour 
fortune bore steadily against him, till he could breast her blows 
no longer. He rose from the table and came towards Somerset, 
and they both moved on together into the entrance-hall. 

Dare was at that moment the victim of an intolerably over- 
powering mania for more money. His presence in the South 
of Europe had its origin, as may be guessed, in Captain De 
Stancy’s journey in the same direction, whom he had followed, 
and occasionally troubled with persistent request for more funds, 
though carefully keeping out of sight of Paula and the rest. 
His dream of involving Paula in the De Stancy pedigree knew 
no abatement. But Somerset had by accident lighted upon him 
at an instant when his chronic idea, though not displaced, was 
overwhelmed by a temporary rage for continuing play. He 
was so possessed with this desire that, in a hope of being able 
to gratify it by Somerset’s aid, he was prepared to do almost 
anything to please the architect. 

“ You asked me,” said Dare, stroking his impassive brow, 
“ if I had seen anything of the Powers. I have seen them ; and 
if I can be of any use to you in giving information abouv them 
I shall only be too glad.” 

“ What information can you give ? ” 

“ I can tell you where they are gone to.” 

“ Where?” 

“To the Grand Hotel, Genoa. They went on there this 
afternoon.” 

“ Whom do you refer to by they ? ” 


SOMERSET , DARE , ^7VZ> STANCY. 


249 


“ Mrs. Goodman, Mr. Power, Miss Power, Miss De Stancy, 
and the worthy captain. He leaves them to-morrow : he 
comes back here for a day on his way to England.” 

Somerset was silent. Dare continued: “Now I have done 
you a favour, will you do me one in return ? ” 

Somerset looked towards the gaming-rooms, and said 
dubiously, “Well?” 

“ Lend me two hundred francs.” 

“Yes,” said Somerset; “but on one condition: that I don’t 
give them to you till you are inside the hotel you are staying 
at” 

“ That can’t be ; it’s at Nice.” 

“Well, I am going back to Nice, and I’ll lend you the money 
the instant we get there.” 

“ But I want it here, now, instantly ! ” cried Dare ; and for 
the first time there was a wiry unreasonableness in his voice 
that fortified his companion more firmly than ever in his 
determination to lend the young man no money whilst he 
remained inside that building. 

“ You want it to throw it away. I don’t approve of it ; so 
come with me.” 

“ But,” said Dare, “ I arrived here with a hundred napoleons 
and more, expressly to work out my theory of chances and 
recurrences, which is sound ; I have studied it hundreds of 
times by the help of this.” He partially drew from his pocket 
the little volume that we have before seen in his hands. “ If 
I only persevere in my system, the certainty that I must win is 
almost mathematical. I have staked and lost two hundred and 
thirty-three times. Allowing out of that one chance in every 
thirty-six (which is the average of zero being marked, and 
two hundred and four times for the backers of the other 
numbers,, I have the mathematical expectation of six times at 
least, which would nearly recoup me. And shall I, then, 
sacrifice that vast foundation of waste chances that I have 
laid down, and paid for, merely for want of a little ready 
money ? ” 

“ You might persevere for a twelvemonth, and still not get the 
better of your reverses. Time tells in favour of the bank. 
Just imagine for the sake of argument that all the people who 
have ever placed a stake upon a certain number to be one 
person playing continuously. Has that imaginary person won ? 
The existence of the bank is a sufficient answer.” 


250 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ But a particular player has the option of leaving off at any 
point favourable to himself, which the bank has not; and 
there’s my opportunity.” 

“ Which from your mood you will be sure not to take 
advantage of.” 

“ I shall go on playing,” said Dare, doggedly. 

“ Not with my money.” 

“Very well; we won’t part as enemies,” replied Dare, with 
the flawless politeness of a man whose speech has no longer 
any kinship with his feelings. “ Shall we share a bottle of 
wine? You will not? Well. I hope your luck with your lady 
will be more magnificent than mine has been here ; but — mind 
Captain De Stancy ! he’s a fearful wild fowl for you.” 

“ He’s a harmless, inoffensive officer, as far as I know. If he 
is not — let him be what he may for me.” 

“ And do his worst to cut you out, I suppose ? ” 

“Ay — if you will.” Somerset, much against his judgment, 
was being stimulated by these pricks into words of irritation. 
“ Captain De Stancy might, I think, be better employed than 
in dangling at the heels of a lady who can well dispense with 
his company. And you might be better employed than in 
wasting your wages here.” 

“ Wages — a fit word for my money. May I ask you at what 
stage in the appearance of a man whose way of existence is 
unknown his money ceases to be called wages and begins to be 
called means ? ” 

Somerset turned and left him without replying, Dare fol- 
lowing his receding figure with a look of ripe resentment, not 
less likely to vent itself in mischief from the want of moral 
ballast in him who emitted it. He then fixed a nettled and 
unsatisfied gaze upon the gaming-rooms, and in another minute 
or two left the Casino also. 

Dare and Somerset met 110 more that day. The latter returned 
to Nice by the evening train and went straight to the hotel. 
He now thanked his fortune that he had not precipitately given 
up his room there, for a telegram from Paula awaited him. 
His hand almost trembled as he opened it, to read the following 
few short words, dated from the Grand Hotel, Genoa : 

“ Letter received. Am glad to hear of your journey. We are not 
returning to Nice , but stay here a week. I direct this at a venture.” 

This tantalising message — the first breaking of her recent 
silence — was saucy, almost cruel, in its dry frigidity. It led 


SOMERSET , DARE , STANCY. 


251 


him to give up his idea of following at once to Genoa. That 
was what she obviously expected him to do, and it was possible 
that his non-arrival might draw a letter or message from her of 
a sweeter composition than this. That would at least be the 
effect of his tardiness if she cared in the least for him ; if she did 
not he could bear the worst. The argument was good enough 
as far as it went, but, like many more, failed from the narrowness 
of its premises, the contingent intervention of Dare being 
entirely undreamt of. It was altogether a fatal miscalculation, 
which cost him dear. 

Passing by the telegraph-office in the Rue Pont-Neuf at an 
early hour the next morning he saw Dare coming out from the 
door. It was Somerset’s momentary impulse to thank Dare for 
the information given as to Paula’s whereabouts, information 
which had now proved true. But Dare did not seem to 
appreciate his friendliness, and after a few words of studied 
civility the young man moved on. 

And well he might. Five minutes before that time he had 
thrown open a gulf of treachery between himself and the 
architect which nothing in life could ever close. Before leaving 
the telegraph-office Dare had despatched the following message 
to Paula direct, as a set-off against what he called Somerset’s 
ingratitude for valuable information, though it was really the 
fruit of many passions, motives, and desires : 

“ G. Somerset , Nice, to Miss Power , Grand Hotel, Genoa . 

Have lost all at Monte Carlo. Have learnt that Captain D. 
S. returns here to-morrow. Please send me one hundred pounds 
iy him , and save me from disgrace. Will await him at eltven 
o'clock and four, on the Pont-Neuf." 


CHAPTER V. 

Five hours after the despatch of that telegram Captain De 
Stancy was rattling along the coast railway of the Riviera from 
Genoa to Nice. He was returning to England by way of 
Marseilles ; but before turning northwards he had engaged to 
perform on Miss Power’s account a peculiar and somewhat 

Vo'l 7 (I) 


252 


A LAODICEAN. 


disagreeable duty. This was to place in Somerset’s hands a 
hundred and twenty-five napoleons which had been demanded 
from her by a message in Somerset’s name. The money was 
in his pocket — all in gold, in a canvas bag, tied up by Paula’s 
own hands, which he had observed to tremble as she tied it. 

As he leaned in the corner of the carriage he was thinking 
over the events of the morning which had culminated in that 
liberal response. At ten o’clock, before he had gone out from 
the hotel where he had taken up his quarters, which was not 
the same as the one patronised by Paula and her friends, he 
had been summoned to her presence in a manner so unexpected 
as to imply that something serious was in question. On enter- 
ing her room he had been struck by the absence of that saucy 
independence usually apparent in her bearing towards him, 
notwithstanding the persistency with which he had hovered 
near her for the previous month, and gradually, by the position 
of his sister, and the favour of Paula’s uncle in intercepting one 
of Somerset’s letters and several of his telegrams, established 
himself as an intimate member of the travelling party. His 
entry, however, this time as always, had had the effect of a 
tonic, and it was quite with her customary self-possession that 
she had told him of the object of her message. 

“You think of returning to Nice this afternoon?” she 
inquired. 

De Stancy informed her that such was his intention, and asked 
if he could do anything for her there. 

Then, he remembered, she had hesitated. “ I have received 
a telegram,” she said at length ; and so she allowed to escape her 
bit by bit the information that her architect, whose name she 
seemed reluctant to utter, had travelled from England to Nice 
that week, partly to consult her, partly for a holiday trip ; that 
he had gone on to Monte Carlo, had there lost his money and 
got into difficulties, and had appealed to her to help him out of 
them by the immediate advance of some ready cash. It was 
a sad case, an unexpected case, she murmured, with her eyes 
fixed on the window. Indeed she could not comprehend it. 

To De Stancy there appeared nothing so very extraordinary 
in Somerset’s apparent fiasco, except in so far as that he should 
have applied to Paula for relief from his distresses instead of 
elsewhere. It was a self-humiliation which a lover would have 
avoided at all costs, he thought. Yet after a momentary 


SOMERSET, DARE , AND DE STANCY. 253 

reflection on his theory of Somerset’s character, it seemed 
sufficiently natural that he should lean persistently on Paula, 
if only with a view of keeping himself linked to her memory, 
without thinking too profoundly of his own dignity. That the 
esteem in which she had held Somerset up to that hour suffered 
a tremendous blow by his apparent scrape was clearly visible 
in her, reticent as she was ; and De Stancy, while pitying 
Somerset, thanked him in his mind for having gratuitously given 
a rival an advantage which that rival’s attentions had never been 
able to gain of themselves. 

After a little further conversation she had said : “ Since you 
are to be my messenger, I must tell you that I have decided to 
send the hundred pounds asked for, and you will please to 
deliver them into no hands but his own.” A curious little 
blush crept over her sobered face — perhaps it was a blush of 
shame at the conduct of the young man in whom she had of 
late been suspiciously interested — as she added, “ He will be 
on the Pont-Neuf at four this afternoon and again at eleven to- 
morrow. Can you meet him there ? ” 

Certainly,” De Stancy replied. 

She then asked him, rather anxiously, how he could account 
for Mr. Somerset knowing that he, Captain De Stancy, was 
about to return to Nice ? 

De Stancy informed her that he left word at the hotel of his 
intention to return, which was quite true ; moreover, there did 
not lurk in his mind at the moment of speaking the faintest 
suspicion that Somerset had seen Dare. 

She then tied the bag and handed it to him, leaving him 
with a serene and impenetrable bearing, which he hoped for 
his own sake meant an acquired indifference to Somerset and 
his fortunes. Her sending the architect a sum of money which 
she could easily spare might be set down to natural generosity 
towards a man with whom she was artistically co-operating for 
the improvement of her home. 

She came back to him again for a moment. “ Could you 
possibly get there before four this afternoon?” she asked, and 
he informed her that he could just do so by leaving almost at 
once, which he was very willing to do, though by so forestalling 
his time he would lose the projected morning with her and the 
rest at the Palazzo Doria. 

“ I may tell you that I shall not go to the Palazzo Doria 


254 


A LAODICEAN. 


either, if it is any consolation to you to know it,” was her 
reply. “ I shall sit indoors and think of you on your 
journey.” 

The answer had admitted of two translations, but her manner 
had inclined him to the inference that her reason for abstaining 
from a visit to the palace was his enforced abandonment of it, 
and not her mental absorption in the result of his meeting 
with Somerset. These retrospections and conjectures filled 
the gallant officer’s mind during the greater part of the journey. 
He arrived at the hotel they had all stayed at in succession 
about six hours after Somerset had left it for a little excursion 
to San Remo and its neighbourhood, as a means of passing a 
few days till Paula should write again to inquire why he had 
not come on. Had De Stancy and Somerset met at Nice a 
curious explanation would have resulted ; but so it was that De 
Stancy saw no one he knew, and in obedience to Paula’s 
commands he promptly set off on foot for the Pont-Neuf. 

Though opposed to the architect as a lover, De Stancy felt 
for him as a poor devil in need of money, having had ex- 
periences of that sort himself, and he was really anxious that 
the needful supply entrusted to him should reach Somerset’s 
hands. He was on the bridge five minutes before the hour, 
and when the clock struck a hand was laid on his shoulder : 
turning he beheld Dare. 

Knowing that the youth was loitering somewhere along the 
coast, for they had frequently met together on De Stancy’s 
previous visit, the latter merely said, “ Don’t bother me for the 
present, Willy, I have an engagement. You can see me at the 
hotel this evening.” 

“ When you have given me the hundred pounds I will fly 
like a rocket, captain,” said the young gentleman. “ I keep 
the appointment instead of the other man.” 

De Stancy looked hard at him. “ How — do you know about 
this ? ” he asked breathlessly. 

“ I have seen him.” 

De Stancy took the young man by the two shoulders and 
gazed into his eyes. The scrutiny seemed not altogether to 
remove the suspicion which had suddenly started up in his mind. 
“ My soul,” he said, dropping his arms, “can this be true?” 

“What?” 

* You know.” 


SOMERSET \ DARE, AND DE STANCY. 255 

Dare shrugged his shoulders ; “ Are you going to hand over 
the money or no ?” he said. 

“I am going to make inquiries” said De Stancy, walking 
away with a vehement tread. 

“ Captain, you are without natural affection,” said Dare, 
walking by his side, in a tone which showed his fear that he 
had over-estimated that emotion. “ See what I have done for 
you. You have been my constant care and anxiety for I can’t 
tell how long. I have stayed awake at night thinking how I 
might best give you a good start in the world by arranging this 
judicious marriage, when you have been sleeping as sound as a 
top with no cares upon your mind at all, and now I have got 
into a scrape — as the most thoughtful of us may sometimes — 
you go to make inquiries.” 

“I have promised the lady to whom this money belongs — 
whose generosity has been shamefully abused in some way — 
that I will deliver it into no hands but those of one man, and 
he has not yet appeared. I therefore go to find him.” 

Dare laid his hand upon De Stancy’s arm. “ Captain, we 
are both warm, and punctilious on points of honour ; this will 
come to a split between us if we don’t mind. So, not to bring 
matters to a crisis, lend me ten pounds here to enable me to 
get home, and I’ll disappear.” 

In a state bordering on distraction, eager to get the young 
man out of his sight before worse revelations should rise up 
between them, De Stancy without pausing in his walk gave him 
the sum demanded. He soon reached the post-office, where 
he inquired if a Mr. Somerset had left any directions for for- 
warding letters. 

It was just what Somerset had done. De Stancy was told 
that Mr. Somerset had commanded that any letters should be 
sent on to him at the Hotel Victoria, San Remo. 

It was now evident that the scheme of getting money from 
Paula was either of Dare’s invention, or that Somerset, 
ashamed of his first impulse, had abandoned it as speedily as it 
had been formed. De Stancy turned and went out. Dare, in 
keeping with his promise, had vanished. Captain De Stancy 
resolved to do nothing in the case till further events should 
enlighten him, beyond sending a line to Miss Power to inform 
her that Somerset had not appeared, and that he therefore 
retained the money till furthei instructions. 


256 


A LAODICEAN. 


BOOK THE FIFTH. 

DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


CHAPTER I. 

Miss Power was reclining on a red velvet couch in the bedroom 
of an old-fashioned red hotel at Strassburg, and her friend Miss 
De Stancy was sitting by a window of the same apartment. 
They were both rather wearied by a long journey of the 
previous day. The hotel overlooked the large open Kleber 
Platz, erect in the midst of which the bronze statue of General 
Kleber received the rays of a warm sun that was powerless to 
brighten him. The whole square, with its people and vehicles 
going to and fro as if they had plenty of time, was visible to 
Charlotte in her chair ; but Paula from her horizontal position 
could see nothing below the level of the many-dormered house- 
tops on the opposite side of the Platz. After watching this 
upper story of the city for some time in silence, she asked 
Charlotte to hand her a binocular lying on the table, through 
which instrument she quietly regarded the distant roofs. 

ttf What strange and philosophical creatures storks are,” she 
said. “ They give a taciturn, ghostly character to the whole 
town.” 

The birds were crossing and recrossing the field of the glass in 
their flight hither and thither between the Strassburg chimneys, 
their sad grey forms sharply outlined against the sky, and their 
skinny legs showing beneath like the limbs of dead martyrs in 
Crivelli’s emaciated imaginings. The indifference of these 
birds to all that was going on beneath them impressed her : 
to harmonize with their solemn and silent movements the 
houses beneath should diave been deserted, and grass growing 
in the streets. 

Behind the long roofs thus visible to Paula over the window- 
sill, with their tiers of dormer-windows, rose the cathedral spire 


DE STANCY AND PAULA 


257 


in airy openwork, forming the highest object in the scene; it 
suggested something which for a long time she appeared un- 
willing to utter ; but natural instinct had its way. 

“ A place like this,” she said, “ where he can study Gothic 
architecture, would, I should have thought, be a spot more 
congenial to him than Monaco.” 

The person referred to was the misrepresented Somerset, 
whom the two had been gingerly discussing from time to time, 
allowing any casual subject, such as that of the storks, to 
interrupt the personal one at every two or three sentences. 

“ It would be more like him to be here,” replied Miss De 
Stancy, trusting her tongue with only the barest generalities on 
this matter. 

Somerset was again dismissed for the stork topic, but Paula 
could not let him alone ; and she presently resumed, as if an 
irresistible fascination compelled what judgment had forbidden : 
“ The strongest-minded persons are sometimes caught unawares 
at that place, if they once think they will retrieve their first 
losses ; and I am not aware that he is particularly strong- 
minded.” 

For a moment Charlotte looked at her with a mixed ex- 
pression, in which there was deprecation that a woman with any 
feeling should criticise Somerset so frigidly, and relief that it was 
Paula who did so. For, notwithstanding her assumption that 
Somerset could never be anything more to her than he was 
already, Charlotte’s heart would occasionally step down and 
trouble her views so expressed. 

Whether looking through a glass at distant objects enabled 
Paula to bottle up her affection for the absent one, or whether 
her friend Charlotte had so little personality in Paula’s regard 
that she could commune with her as with a lay figure, it was 
certain that she evinced remarkable ease in speaking of Somer- 
set, resuming her words about him in the tone of one to whom 
he was at most an ordinary professional adviser. “ It would be 
very awkward for the works at the castle if he has got into a 
scrape. I suppose the builders were well posted up with 
instructions before he left : but he ought certainly to return 
soon. Why did he leave England at all just now ? ” 

“ Perhaps it was to see you.” 

“ He should have waited ; it would not have been so dread- 
fully long to May or June. Charlotte, how can a man who 

s 


A LAODICEAN. 


25$ 

does such a hare-brained thing as this be deemed trustworthy 
in an important work like that of rebuilding Stancy Castle ? ” 

There was such stress in the inquiry that, whatever factitious- 
ness had gone before, Charlotte perceived Paula to be at last 
speaking in her mind ; and it seemed as if Somerset must have 
considerably lost ground in her opinion, or she would not have 
criticised him thus. 

“ My brother will tell us full particulars when he comes : 
perhaps it is not at all as we suppose,” said Charlotte. She 
strained her eyes across the Platz and added, “ He ought to 
have been here before this time.” 

While they waited and talked, Paula still observing the storks, 
the hotel omnibus came round the corner from the station. 
“I believe he has arrived,” resumed Miss De Stancy; 
“ I see something that looks like his portmanteau on the 
top of the omnibus. ... Yes ; it is his baggage. I’ll run down 
to him.” 

De Stancy had obtained six weeks’ additional leave on 
account of his health, which had somewhat suffered in India. 
The first use he made of his extra time was in hastening back 
to meet the travelling ladies here at Strassburg. Mr. Power 
and Mrs. Goodman were also at the hotel, and when Charlotte 
got downstairs, the former was welcoming De Stancy at the 
door. 

Paula had not seen him since he set out from Genoa for 
Nice, commissioned by her to deliver the hundred pounds to 
Somerset. His note, stating that he had failed to meet Somer- 
set, contained no details, and she guessed that he would soon 
appear before her now to answer any question about that 
peculiar errand. 

Her anticipations were justified by the event : she had no 
sooner gone into the next sitting room than Charlotte De 
Stancy appeared and asked if her brother might come up. The 
closest observer would have been in doubt whether Paula’s 
ready reply in the affirmative was prompted by personal con- 
sideration for De Stancy, or by a hope to hear more of his 
mission to Nice. As soon as she had welcomed him she 
reverted at once to the subject. 

“ Yes, as I told you, he was not at the place of meeting,” De 
Stancy replied. And taking from his pocket the bag of ready 
money he placed it intact upon the table. 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


259 


De Stancy did this with a hand that shook somewhat more 
than a long railway journey was adequate to account for ; and 
in truth it was the vision of Dare’s position which agitated the 
unhappy officer : for had that young man, as De Stancy feared, 
been tampering with Somerset’s name, his fate now trembled in 
the balance ; Paula would unquestionably and naturally invoke 
the aid of the law against him if she discovered such an im- 
position. 

“ Were you punctual to the time mentioned ? ” she asked 
curiously. 

De Stancy replied in the affirmative. 

“ Did you wait long ? ” she continued. 

“ Not very long,” he answered, his instinct to screen the 
possibly guilty one confining him to guarded statements, while 
still adhering to the literal truth. 

“ Why was that ? ” 

“ Somebody came and told me that he would not appear.” 

“Who?” 

“ A young man who has been acting as his clerk. His name 
is Dare. He informed me that Mr. Somerset could not keep 
the appointment.” 

“Why?” 

“ He had gone on to San Remo.” 

“Has he been travelling with Mr. Somerset?” 

“ He had been with him. They know each other very well. 
But as you commissioned me to deliver the money into no 
hands but Mr. Somerset’s, I adhered strtctly to your instruc- 
tions.” 

“ But perhaps my instructions were not wise. Should it in 
your opinion have been sent by this young man ? Was he 
commissioned to ask you for it ? ” 

De Stancy murmured that Dare was not commissioned to 
ask for it ; that upon the whole he deemed her instructions 
wise ; and was still of opinion that the best thing had been 
done. 

Although De Stancy was distracted between his desire to 
preserve Dare from the consequences of folly, and a gentlemanly 
wish to keep as close to the truth as was compatible with that 
condition, his answers had not appeared to Paula to be 
particularly evasive, the conjuncture being one in which a 
handsome heiress’s shrewdness was prone to overleap itself by 


26 o 


A LAODICEAN. 


setting down embarrassment on the part of the man she 
questioned to a mere lover’s difficulty in steering between 
honour and rivalry. 

She put but one other question. “ Did it appear as if he, 
Mr. Somerset, after telegraphing, had — had — regretted doing 
so, and evaded the result by not keeping the appointment ? ” 

“ That’s just how it appears.” The words, which saved 
Dare from ignouiny, cost De Stancy a good deal. He was 
sorry for Somerset, sorry for himself, and very sorry for Paula. 
But Dare was to De Stancy what Somerset could never be : 
and “for his kin that is near unto him shall a man be 
defiled.” 

After that interview Charlotte saw with warring impulses 
that Somerset slowly diminished in Paula’s estimate ; slowly 
as the moon wanes, but as certainly. Charlotte’s own love 
was of a clinging, uncritical sort, and though the shadowy 
intelligence of Somerset’s doings weighed down her soul with 
regret, it seemed to make not the least difference in her affection 
for him. 

In the afternoon the whole party, including De Stancy, 
drove about the streets. Here they looked at the house 
in which Goethe had lived, and afterwards entered the 
cathedral. Observing in the south transept a crowd of 
people waiting patiently, they were reminded that they un- 
wittingly stood in the presence of the popular clock-work of 
Schwilgu^. 

Mr. Power and Mrs. Goodman decided that they would wait 
with the rest of the idlers and see the puppets perform at the 
striking. Charlotte also waited with them ; but as it wanted 
eight minutes to the hour, and as Paula had seen the show 
before, she moved on into the nave. 

Presently she found that De Stancy had followed. He did 
not come close till she, seeing him stand silent, said, “ If it 
were not for this cathedral, I should not like the city at all ; 
and I have even seen cathedrals I like better. Luckily we are 
going on to Baden to-morrow.” 

“ Your uncle has just told me. He has asked me to keep 
you company.” 

“ Are you intending to ? ” said Paula, probing the base- 
moulding of a pier with her parasol. 

“ I have nothing better to do, nor indeed half so good,” said 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


261 

De Stancy. M I am abroad for my health, you know, and 
what’s like the Rhine and its neighbourhood in early summer, 
before the crowd comes? It is delightful to wander about 
there, or anywhere, like a child, influenced by no fixed motive 
more than that of keeping near some friend, or friends, including 
the one we most admire in the world.” 

“ That sounds perilously like love-making.” 

“ ’Tis love indeed.” 

“ Well, love is natural to men, I suppose,” rejoined the 
young lady. “ But you must love within bounds ; or you will 
be enervated, and cease to be useful as a heavy arm of the 
service.” 

“ My dear Miss Power, your didactic and respectable rules 
won’t do for me. If you expect straws to stop currents, you 
are sadly mistaken ! But no — let matters be : I am a happy 
contented mortal at present, say what you will. . . . You don’t 
ask why? Perhaps you know. It is because all I care for in 
the world is near me, and that I shall never be more than a 
hundred yards from her as long as the present arrangement 
continues.” 

“We are in a cathedral, remember, Captain De Stancy, and 
should not keep up a secular conversation.” 

“ If I had never said worse in a cathedral than what I have 
said here, I should be content to meet my eternal Judge 
without absolution. Your uncle asked me this morning how I 
liked you.” 

“ Well, there was no harm in that.” 

“ How I like you ! Harm, no ; but you should have seen 
how silly I looked. Fancy the inadequacy of the expression 
when my whole sense is absorbed by you.” 

“ Men allow themselves to be made ridiculous by their own 
feelings in an inconceivable way.” 

“ True, I am a fool ; but forgive me,” he rejoined, observing 
her gaze, which wandered critically from roof to clerestory, and 
then to the pillars, without once lighting on him. “ Don’t 
mind saying yes. — You look at this thing and that thing, but 
you never look at me, though I stand here and see nothing but 
you.” 

“ There, the clock is striking — and the cock crows. Please 
go across to the transept and tell them to come out this 
way.” 


262 


A LAODICEAN. 


De Stancy went. When he had gone a few steps he turned 
his head. She had at last ceased to study the architecture, 
and was looking at him. Perhaps his words had struck her, 
for it seemed at that moment as if he read in her bright eyes a 
genuine interest in him and his fortunes. 


CHAPTER II. 

Next day they went on to Baden. De Stancy was beginning 
to cultivate the passion of love even more as an escape from the 
gloomy relations of his life than as matrimonial strategy. 
Paula’s juxtaposition had the attribute of making him forget 
everything in his own history. She was a magic alterative; 
and the most foolish boyish shape into which he could throw 
his feelings for her was in this respect to be aimed at as the act 
of highest wisdom. 

Hence he supplemented the natural warmth of feeling that 
she had wrought in him by every artificial means in his power, 
to make the distraction the more complete. He had not 
known anything like this self-obscuration for a dozen years, 
and when he conjectured that she might really learn to love 
him he felt exalted in his own eyes and purified from the dross 
of his former life. Such uneasiness of conscience as arose 
when he suddenly remembered Dare, and the possibility that 
Somerset was getting ousted unfairly, had its weight in de- 
pressing him; but he was inclined to accept his fortune 
without much question. 

The journey to Baden, though short, was not without 
incidents on which he could work out this curious hobby of 
cultivating to superlative power an already positive passion. 
Handing her in and out of the carriage, accidentally getting 
brushed by her dress ; of all such as this he made available 
fuel. Paula, though she might have guessed the general nature 
of what was going on, seemed unconscious of the refinements 
he was trying to throw into it, and sometimes, when in stepping 
into or from a railway carriage she unavoidably put her hand 


DE STANCY AND PA ULA. 263 

upon his arm, the obvious insignificance she attached to the 
action struck him with misgiving. 

One of the first things they did at Baden was to stroll into 
the Trink-halle, where Paula sipped the water. She was about 
to put down the glass, when De Stancy quickly took it from 
her hands as though to make use of it himself. 

“Oh, if that is what you mean,” she said mischievously, 
“ you should have noticed the exact spot. It was there.” She 
put her finger on a particular portion of its edge. 

“ You ought not to act like that, unless you mean something, 
Miss Power,” he replied gravely. 

“ Tell me more plainly.” 

“ I mean, you should not do things which excite in me 
the hope that you care something for me, unless you really 
do.” 

“ I put my finger on the edge and said it was there.” 

“ Meaning, ‘ It was there my lips touched ; let yours do the 
same.’ ” 

“ The latter part I wholly deny,” she answered, with disregard, 
after which she went away, and kept between Charlotte and 
her aunt for the rest of the afternoon. 

Since the receipt of the telegraphic message Paula had been 
frequently silent; she frequently stayed in alone, and some- 
times she became quite gloomy — an altogether unprecedented 
phase for her. This was the case on the morning after the 
incident in the Trink-halle. Not to intrude on her, Charlotte 
walked about the landings of the sunny white hotel in which 
they had taken up their quarters, went down into the court, 
and petted the tortoises that were creeping about there among 
the flowers and plants ; till at last, on going to her friend, she 
caught her reading some old letters of Somerset's. 

Paula made no secret of them, and Miss De Stancy could 
see that more than half were written on blue paper, with 
diagrams amid the writing : they were, in fact, simply those 
sheets of his letters which related to the rebuilding. Never- 
theless, Charlotte fancied she had caught Paula in a 
sentimental mood ; and doubtless could Somerset have walked 
in at this moment instead of Charlotte it might have fared well 
with him, so insidiously do tender memories reassert themselves 
in the face of outward mishaps. 

They took a short drive down the Lichtenthal road and into 


264 


A LAODICEAN. 


the forest, De Stancy and Abner Power riding on horseback 
alongside. The sun streamed yellow behind their backs as 
they wound up the long inclines, lighting the red trunks, and 
even the blue-black foliage itself. The summer had already 
made impression upon that mass of uniform colour by tipping 
every twig with a tiny sprout of virescent yellow ; while the 
minute sounds which issued from the forest revealed that the 
apparently still place was becoming a perfect reservoir of 
insect life. 

Abner Power was quite sentimental that day* “In such 
places as these,” he said, as he rode alongside Mrs. Goodman, 
“ nature’s powers in the multiplication of one type strike me as 
much as the grandeur of the mass.” 

Mrs. Goodman agreed with him, and Paula said, “The 
foliage forms the roof of an interminable green crypt, the 
pillars being the trunks, and the vault the interlacing 
boughs.” 

“ It is a fine place in a thunderstorm,” said De Stancy. “ I 
am not an enthusiast, but to see the lightning spring hither 
and thither, like lazy-tongs, bristling, and striking, and 
vanishing, is rather impressive.” 

“ It must be indeed,” said Paula. 

“ And in the winter winds these pines sigh like ten thousand 
spirits in trouble.” 

“ Indeed they must,” said Paula. 

“ At the same time I know a little fir-plantation about a mile 
square, not far from Markton,” said De Stancy, “which is pre- 
cisely like this in miniature, — stems, colours, slopes, winds, 
and all. If we were to go there any time with a highly 
magnifying pair of spectacles it would look as fine as this — 
and save a deal of travelling.” 

“ I know the place, and I agree with you,” said Paula. 

“You agree with me on all subjects but one,” he presently 
observed, in a voice not intended to reach the others. 

Paula looked at him, but was silent. 

Onward and upward they went, the same pattern and colour 
of tree repeating themselves endlessly, till in a couple of hours 
they reached the castle hill which was to be the end of their 
journey, and beheld stretched beneath them the valley of the 
Murg. They alighted and entered the fortress. 

“What did you mean by that look of kindness you be- 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


265 


stowed upon me just now. when I said you agreed with me 
on all subjects but one?” asked De Stancy half humorously, 
as he held open a little door for her, the others having gone 
ahead. 

“I meant, I suppose, that I was much obliged to you for 
not requiring agreement on that one subject,” she said, passing 
on. 

“ Not more than that ? ” said De Stancy, as he followed 
her. “ But whenever I involuntarily express towards you senti- 
ments that there can be no mistaking, you seem truly compas- 
sionate.” 

“ If I seem so, I feel so.” 

“If you mean no more than mere compassion, I wish you 
would show nothing at all, for your mistaken kindness is only 
preparing more misery for me than I should have if let alone 
to suffer without mercy.” 

“ I implore you to be quiet, Captain De Stancy ! Leave 
me, and look out of the window at the view here, or at the 
pictures, or at the armour, or whatever it is we are come to 
see.” 

“ Very well. But pray don’t extract amusement from my 
harmless remarks. Such as they are I mean them.” 

She stopped him by changing the subject, for they had 
entered an octagonal chamber on the first floor, presumably 
full of pictures and curiosities ; but the shutters were closed, 
and only’ stray beams of light gleamed in to suggest what was 
there. 

“ Can’t somebody open the windows ? ” said Paula. 

“ The attendant is about to do it,” said her uncle ; and as 
he spoke the shutters to the east were flung back, and one of 
the loveliest views in the forest disclosed itself outside. 

Some of them stepped out upon the balcony. The river 
lay along the bottom of the valley, irradiated with a silver 
shine. Little rafts of pinewood floated on its surface like tiny 
splinters, the men who steered them not appearing larger 
than ants. 

Paula stood on the balcony, looking for a few minutes upon 
the sight, and then came again into the shadowy room, where 
De Stancy had remained. While the rest were still outside 
she resumed : “ You must not suppose that I shrink from the 
subject you so persistently bring before me. I respect deep 


266 


A LAODICEAN. 


affection — you know I do ; but for me to say that I have any 
such for you, of the particular sort you only will be satisfied 
with, would be absurd. I don’t feel it, and therefore there can 
be nothing between us. One would think it would be better 
to feel kindly towards you than to feel nothing at all. But if 
you object to that I’ll try to feel nothing.” 

“ I don’t really object to your sympathy,” said De Stancy, 
rather struck by her seriousness. “ But it is very saddening to 
think you can feel nothing more.” 

“ It must be so, since I can feel no more,” she decisively 
replied, adding, as she stopped her seriousness : “ You must 
pray for strength to get over it.” 

“ One thing I shall never pray for ; to see you give yourself 
to another man. But I suppose I shall witness that some 
day.” 

“ You may,” she gravely returned. 

“ You have no doubt chosen him already,” cried the captain 
bitterly. 

“ No, Captain De Stancy,” she said shortly, a faint invo- 
luntary blush coming into her face as she guessed his 
allusion. 

This, and a few glances round at the pictures and curiosities, 
completed their survey of the castle. De Stancy knew better 
than to trouble her further that day with special remarks. 
During the return journey he rode ahead with Mr. Power and 
she saw no more of him. 

She would have been astonished had she heard the con- 
versation of the two gentlemen as they wound gently down- 
wards through the trees. 

“ As far as I am concerned,” Captain De Stancy’s companion 
was saying, “ nothing would give me more unfeigned delight 
than that you should persevere and win her. But you must 
understand that I have no authority over her — nothing more 
than the natural influence that arises from my being her father’s 
brother.” 

“ And for exercising that much, whatever it may be, in my 
favour, I thank you heartily,” said De Stancy. “ But I am 
coming to the conclusion that it is useless to press her further. 
She is right : I am not the man for her. I am too old, and too 
poor; and I must put up as well as I can with her loss — 
drown her image in old Falernian till I embark in Charon’s 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


267 


boat for good ! — Really, if I had the industry I could write 
some good Horatian verses on my inauspicious situation ! . . . 
Ah, well ; — in this way I affect levity over my troubles ; but in 
plain truth my life will not be the brightest without her.” 

“ Don’t be down-hearted ! you are too — too gentlemanly, 
De Stancy, in this matter — you are too soon put off — you 
should have a touch of the canvasser about you in approach- 
ing her; and not stick at things. You have my hearty invita- 
tion to travel with us all the way till we cross to England, and 
there will be heaps of opportunities as we wander on. I’ll 
keep a slow pace to give you time.” 

“ You are very good, my friend ! . Well, I will try again. I 
am full of doubt and indecision, mind, but at present I feel 
that I will try again. There is, I suppose, a slight possibility 
of something or other turning up in my favour, if it is true that 
the unexpected always happens — for I foresee no chance what- 
ever. . . . Which way do we go when we leave here to- 
morrow ? ” 

“To Carlsruhe, she says, if the rest of us have no objec- 
tion.” 

“ Carlsruhe, then, let it be, with all my heart ; or any- 
where.” 

To Carlsruhe they went next day, after a night of soft rain 
which brought up a warm steam from the Schwarzwald valleys, 
pnd caused the young tufts and grasses to swell visibly in a 
few hours. After the Baden slopes the flat thoroughfares of 
“ Charles’s Rest ” seemed somewhat uninteresting, though a 
busy fair which was proceeding in the streets created a quaint 
and unexpected liveliness. On reaching the old-fashioned inn 
in the Lange-Strasse that they had fixed on, the women of the 
party betook themselves to their rooms, and showed little 
inclination to see more of the world that day than could be 
gleaned from the hotel windows. 


268 


A LAODICEAN. 


CHAPTER III. 

While the malignant tongues had been playing havoc with 
Somerset’s fame in the ears of Paula and her companion, 
the young man himself was proceeding partly by rail, partly on 
foot, below and amid the olive-clad hills, vineyards, carob 
groves, and lemon gardens of the Mediterranean shores. 
Arrived at San Remo he wrote to Nice to inquire for letters, 
and such as had come were duly forwarded ; but not one of 
them was from Paula. This broke down his resolution to 
hold off, and he hastened directly to Genoa, regretting that 
he had not taken this step when he first heard that she was 
there. 

Something in the very aspect of the marble halls of that city, 
which at any other time he would have liked to linger over, 
whispered to him that the bird had flown; and inquiry con- 
firmed the fancy. Nevertheless, the architectural beauties of 
the vast palace-bordered street, looking as if mountains of 
marble must have been levelled to supply the materials for 
constructing it, detained him there two days : or rather a feat 
of resolution, by which he set himself to withstand the drag- 
chain of Paula’s influence, was operative for that space of 
time. 

At the end of it he moved onward. There was no difficulty 
in discovering their track northwards ; and feeling that he might 
as well return to England by the Rhine route as by any other, 
he followed in the course they had chosen, getting scent of 
them in Strassburg, missing them at Baden by a day, and finally 
overtaking them at Carlsruhe, which town he reached on the 
morning after the Power and De Stancy party had taken up 
their quarters at the ancient inn above mentioned. 

When Somerset was about to get out of the train at this 
place, little dreaming what a meaning the word Carlsruhe 
would have for him in subsequent years, he was disagreeably 
surprised to see no other than Dare stepping out of the adjoin- 
ing carriage. A new brown leather valise in one of his hands, 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


269 


a new umbrella in the other, and a new suit of fashionable 
clothes on his back, seemed to denote considerable improve- 
ment in the young man’s fortunes. Somerset was so struck 
by the phenomenal circumstance of his being on this spot that 
he almost missed his opportunity for alighting. 

Dare meanwhile had moved on without seeing his former 
employer, and Somerset resolved to take the chance that 
offered, and let him go. There was something so mysterious 
in their common presence simultaneously at one place, five 
hundred miles from where they had last met, that he exhausted 
conjecture on whether Dare’s errand this way could have any- 
thing to do with his own, Or whether their juxtaposition a 
second time was the result of pure accident. Greatly as he 
would have liked to get this answered by a direct question to 
Dare himself, he did not counteract his first instinct, and 
remained unseen. 

They went out in different directions, when Somerset for the 
first time remembered that, in learning at Baden that the party 
had flitted towards Carlsruhe, he had taken no care to ascertain 
the name of the hotel they were bound for. Carlsruhe was 
not a large place and the point was immaterial, but the omission 
would necessitate a little inquiry, To follow Dare on the 
chance of his having fixed upon the same quarters was a 
course which did not commend itself. He resolved to get 
some lunch before proceeding with his business — or fatuity — of 
discovering the elusive lady, and drove off to a neighbouring 
tavern, which did not happen to be, as he hoped it might, the 
one chosen by those who had preceded him. 

Meanwhile Dare, previously muster of their plans, went 
straight to the house which sheltered them, and on entering 
under the archway from the Lange-Strasse was saved the 
trouble of inquiring for Captain De Stancy by seeing him drink- 
ing bitters at a little table in the court. Had Somerset chosen 
this inn for his quarters instead of the one in the Market-Place 
which he actually did choose, the three must inevitably have 
met here at this moment, with some possibly striking dramatic 
results ; though what they would have been remains for ever 
hidden in the darkness of the unfulfilled. 

De Stancy juinped up from his chair, and went forward to the 
new-comer. “ You are not long behind us, then,” he said, with 
laconic disquietude. “ I thought you were going straight home ?” 


270 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ I was,” said Dare, “ but I have been blessed with what I 
may call a small competency since I saw you last. Of the two 
hundred francs you gave me I risked fifty at the tables, and I 
have multiplied them, how many times do you think ? More 
than four hundred times.” 

De Stancy immediately looked grave. “ I wish you had lost 
them,” he said, with as much feeling as could be shown in a 
place where strangers were hovering near. 

“ Nonsense, captain ! I have proceeded purely on a calcula- 
tion of chances ; and my calculations proved as true as I 
expected, notwithstanding a little in-and-out luck at first. 
Witness this as the result.” He smacked his bag with his 
umbrella, and the chink of money resounded from within. 
“ Just feel the weight of it ! ” 

“ It is not necessary. I’ll take your word.” 

“ Shall I lend you five pounds ? ” 

" God forbid ! As if that would repay me for what you have 
cost me ! But come, let’s get out of this place to where we can 
talk more freely.” He put his hand though the young man’s 
arm, and led him round the comer of the hotel towards the 
Schloss-Platz. 

“ These runs of luck will be your ruin, as I have told you 
before,” continued Captain De Stacy. “ You will be for re- 
peating and repeating your experiments, and will end by blow- 
ing your brains out, as wiser heads than yours have done. I 
am glad you have come away, at any rate. Why did you travel 
this way ? ” 

“ Simply because I could afford it, of course. — But come, 
captain, something has ruffled you to-day. I thought you did 
not look in the best temper the moment I saw you. Every sip 
you took of your pick-up as you sat there showed me some- 
thing was wrong. Tell your worry ! ” 

“ Pooh — I can tell you in two words,” said the captain, 
satirically. “ Your arrangement for my wealth and happiness — 
for I suppose you still claim it to be yours — has fallen through. 
The lady has announced to-day that she means to send for 
Some rset instantly. She is coming to a personal explanation 
with him. So woe to me —and in another sense, woe to you, 
as I have reason to fear, though I have hoped otherwise.” 

“ Send for him ! ” said Dare, with the stillness of complete 
abstraction. “ Then he’ll come.” 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


271 


“Well,” said De Stancy, looking him in the face. “And 
does it make you feel you had better be off? How about that 
telegram ? Did he ask you to send it, or did he not ?” 

“ One minute, or I shall be up such a tree as nobody ever 
saw the like of.” 

“ Then what did you come here for ? ” burst out De Stancy. 

“ ’Tis my belief you are no more than a ■. But I won’t call 

you names ; I’ll tell you quite plainly that if there is anything 
wrong in that message to her — which I believe there is — no, I 
can’t believe, though I fear it — you have the chance of appear- 
ing in drab clothes at the expense of the Government before the 
year is out, and I of being eternally disgraced ! ” 

“ No, captain, you won’t be disgraced. I am bad to beat, 
I can tell you. And come the worst luck, I don’t say a 
word.” 

“ But those letters pricked in your skin would say a good 
leal, it strikes me.” 

“ What ! would they strip me ? — but it is not coming to that. 
Look here, now, I’ll tell you the truth for once ; though you 
don’t believe me capable of it. I did concoct that telegram — 
and sent it ; just as a practical joke ; and many a worse one 
has been only laughed at by honest men and officers. I could 
show you a bigger joke still — a joke of jokes — on the same 
individual.” 

Dare as he spoke put his hand into his breast-pocket, as if 
the said joke lay there ; but after a moment he withdrew his hand 
empty, as he continued : 

“ Having invented it I have done enough ; I was going to 
explain it to you, that you might carry it out. But you are so 
serious, that I will leave it alone. My second joke shall die 
with me.” 

“ So much the better,” said De Stancy. “ I don’t like your 
jokes, even though they are not directed against myself. 
They express a kind of humour which does not suit me.” 

“ You may have reason to alter your mind,” said Dare care- 
lessly. “ Your success with your lady may depend on it. The 
truth is, captain, we aristocrats must not take too high a tone. 
Our days as an independent division of society, which holds 
aloof from other sections, are past. This has been my argu- 
ment (in spite of my strong Norman feelings) ever since I 
broached the subject of your marrying this girl, who represents 


272 


A LAODICEAN. 


both intellect and wealth — all, in fact, except the historical 
prestige that you represent. And we mustn’t flinch at things. 
The case is even more pressing than ordinary cases — owing to 
the odd fact that the representative of the new blood who has 
come in our way actually lives in your own old house, and owns 
;our own old lands. The ordinary reason for such alliances is 
quintupled in our case. Do then just think and be reasonable, 
before you talk tall about not liking my jokes, and all that. 
Beggars musn’t be choosers.” 

“ There’s really much reason in your argument,” said De 
Stancy, with a bitter laugh : “ and my own heart argues much 
the same way. But, leaving me to take care of my aristocratic 
self, I advise your aristocratic self to slip off - at once to England 
like any hang-gallows dog ; and if Somerset is here, and you 
have been doing wrong in his name, and it all comes out, I’ll 
try to save you, as far as an honest man can. If you have done 
no wrong, of course there is no fear; though I should be 
obliged by your going homeward as quickly as possible, as 
being better both for you and for me, . . . Hullo — Dam- 
nation ! ” 

They had reached one side of the Schloss-Platz, nobody 
apparently being near them save a sentinel who was on duty 
before the Palace ; but turning as he spoke, De Stancy beheld 
a group consisting of his sister, Paula, and Mr. Power, strolling 
across the square towards them. 

It was impossible to escape their observation, and putting a 
bold front upon it, De Stancy advanced with Dare at his side, 
till in a few moments the two parties met, Paula and Charlotte 
recognising Dare at once as the young man who assisted at 
the castle. 

“I have met my young photographer,” said De Stancy, 
cheerily. “ What a small world it is, as everybody truly 
observes ! I am wishing he could take some views for us as 
we go on ; but you have no apparatus with you, I suppose, Mr. 
Dare?” 

“ I have not, sir, I am sorry to say,” replied Dare respect- 
fully. 

“You could get some, I suppose ?” asked Paula of the in- 
teresting young photographer. 

Dare declared that it would be not impossible : whereupon 
De Stancy said that it was only a passing thought of his ; and 


DE STANCY AND PA ULA. 273 

in a few minutes the two parties again separated, going their 
several ways. 

“ That was awkward,” said De Stancy, trembling with 
excitement. “I would advise you to keep further off in 
future.” 

Dare said thoughtfully that he would be careful, adding, 
“ She is a prize for any man, indeed, leaving alone the substan- 
tial possessions behind her! Now was I too enthusiastic? 
Was I a fool for urging you on?” 

“Wait till success justifies the undertaking. In case of 
failure it will have been anything but wise. It is no light 
matter to have a carefully preserved repose broken in upon for 
nothing — a repose that could never be restored ! ” 

They walked down the Carl-Friedrichs-Strasse to the Mar- 
grave’s Pyramid, and back to the hotel, where Dare also decided 
to take up his stay. De Stancy left him with the book-keeper 
at the desk, and went upstairs to see if the ladies had returned. 


CHAPTER IV. 

He found them in their sitting-room with their bonnets on, as 
if they had just come in. Mr. Power was also present, read- 
ing a newspaper, but Mrs. Goodman had gone out to a 
neighbouring shop, in the windows of which she had seen some- 
thing which attracted her fancy. 

When De Stancy entered, Paula’s thoughts seemed to revert 
to Dare, for almost at once she asked him in what direction 
the youth was travelling. With some hesitation De Stancy 
replied that he believed Mr. Dare was returning to England 
after a spring trip for the improvement of his mind. 

“A very praiseworthy thing to do,” said Paula. “What 
places has he visited ? ” 

“ Those which afford opportunities for the study of the old 
masters, I believe,” said De Stancy, blandly. “ He has also 
been to Turin, Genoa, Marseilles, and so on.” The captain 
spoke the more readily to her questioning in that he divined 
her words to be dictated, not by any suspicions of his relations 

x 


274 


A LAODICEAN. 


with Dare, but by her knowledge of Dare as the draughtsman 
employed by Somerset. 

“ Has he been to Nice ?” she next demanded. “ Did he go 
there in company with my architect ? ” 

“ I think not.” 

“ Has he seen anything of him ? My architect Somerset 
once employed him. They know each other.” 

“ I think he saw Somerset for a short time.” 

Paula was silent. “ Do you know where this young man 
Dare is at the present moment ? ” she asked quickly. 

De Stancy said that Dare was staying at the same hotel with 
themselves, and that he believed he was downstairs. 

“ I think I can do no better than send for him, said she. 
“ He may be able to throw some light upon the matter of that 
telegram.” 

“She rang and despatched the waiter for the young man in 
question, De Stancy almost visibly trembling for the result. 
But he opened the town directory which was lying on a table, 
and affected to be engrossed in the names. 

Before Dare was shown in she said to her uncle, “ Perhaps 
you will speak to him for me ? ” 

Mr. Power, looking up from the paper he was reading, 
assented to her proposition. Dare appeared in the doorway, 
and the waiter retired. Dare seemed a trifle startled out of his 
usual coolness, the message having evidently been unexpected, 
and he came forward somewhat uneasily. 

“Mr. Dare, we are anxious to know something of Miss 
Power’s architect ; and Captain De Stancy tells us you have 
seen him lately,” said Mr. Power sonorously over the edge of 
his newspaper. 

Not knowing whether danger menaced or no, or, if it menaced, 
from what quarter it was to be expected, Dare felt that honesty 
was as good as anything else for him, and replied boldly that 
he had seen Mr. Somerset, De Stancy continuing to cream 
and mantle almost visibly, in anxiety at the situation of the 
speaker. 

“ And where did you see him ?” continued Mr. Power. 

“In the Casino at Monte Carlo.” 

“ How long did you see him ? ” 

“ Only for half an hour. I left him there.” 

Paula’s interest got the better of her reserve, and she cut in 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


VS 

upon her uncle : “ Did he seem in any unusual state, or in 
trouble ? ” 

“ He was rather excited,” said Dare. 

“ And can you remember when that was ? ” 

Dare considered, looked at his pocket-book, and said that it 
was on the evening of April the twenty-second. 

The answer had a significance for Paula, De Stancy, and 
Charlotte, to which Abner Power was a stranger. The tele- 
graphic request for money, which had been kept a secret from 
him by his niece, because of his already unfriendly tone towards 
Somerset, arrived on the morning of the twenty-third — a date 
which neighboured with painfully suggestive nicety upon that 
now given by Dare. 

She seemed to be silenced, and asked no more questions. 
Dare having furbished himself up to a gentlemanly appearance 
with some of his recent winnings, was invited to stay on awhile 
by Paula’s uncle, who, as became a travelled man, was not 
fastidious as to company. Being a youth of the world, Dare 
made himself agreeable to that gentleman, and afterwards tried 
to do the same with Miss De Stancy. At this the captain, to 
whom the situation for some time had been amazingly uncom- 
fortable, pleaded some excuse for going out, and left the room. 

Dare continued his endeavours to say a few polite nothings 
to Charlotte De Stancy, in the course of which he drew from 
his pocket his new silk handkerchief. By some chance a card 
came out with the handkerchief, and fluttered downwards. His 
momentary instinct was to make a grasp at the card and con- 
ceal it : but it had already tumbled to the floor, where it lay 
face upward beside Charlotte De Stancy’s chair. 

It was neither a visiting nor a playing card, but one bearing 
a photographic portrait of a peculiar nature. It was what Dare 
had characterised as his best joke of all in speaking on the 
subject to Captain De Stancy : he had in the morning put it 
ready in his pocket to give to the captain, and had in fact held 
it in waiting between his finger and thumb while talking 
to him in the Platz, meaning that he should make use of it 
against his rival whenever convenient. ’But his sharp conversa- 
tion with that officer had dulled his zest for this final joke 
at Somerset’s expense, had at least shown him that De Stancy 
would not adopt the joke by accepting the photograph and 
using it himself, and determined him to lay it aside till a more 

T 2 


276 


A LAODICEAN. 


convenient season. So fully had he made up his mind on this 
course, that when the photograph slipped out he did not per- 
ceive the appositeness of the circumstance, in putting into his 
own hands the role he had intended for De Stancy, till after a 
moment’s reflection ; though in an after-controversy on the 
incident it was asserted that the whole scene was deliber- 
ately planned. However, once having seen the accident, he 
seemed resolved to take the current as it served, and smiling 
imperceptibly, waited events with cheerful inanition. 

The card having fallen beside her, Miss De Stancy glanced 
over it, which indeed she could not help doing. The smile 
that had previously hung upon her lips was arrested as if by 
frost : and she involuntarily uttered a little distressed cry of 
“ Oh ! ” like one in bodily pain. 

Paula, who had been talking to her uncle during this interlude, 
started round, and wondering what had happened, inquiringly 
crossed the room to poor Charlotte’s side, asking her what was 
the matter. Charlotte had regained self-possession, though not 
enough to enable her to reply, and Paula asked her a second 
time what had made her exclaim like that. Miss De Stancy 
still seemed confused, whereupon Paula noticed that her eyes 
were continually drawn as by fascination towards the photo- 
graph on the floor, which, contrary to his first impulse, Dare, as 
has been said, now seemed in no hurry to regain. Surmising 
at last that the card, whatever it was, had something to do with 
the exclamation, Paula picked it up. 

It was a portrait of Somerset ; but by a device known in 
photography the operator, though contriving to produce what 
seemed to be a perfect likeness, had given it the distorted fea- 
tures and wild attitude of a man advanced in intoxication. No 
woman, unless specially cognisant of such possibilities, could 
have looked upon it and doubted that the photograph was a 
genuine illustration of a customary phase in the young man’s 
private life. 

Paula observed it, thoroughly took it in ; but the effect upon 
her was by no means clear. Charlotte’s eyes at once forsook 
the portrait to dwell on ‘Paula’s face. It paled a little, and this 
was followed by a hot blush — perceptibly a blush of shame. 
That was all. She flung the picture down on the table, and 
moved away. 

It was now Mr. Power’s turn. Anticipating Dare, who was 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


277 


advancing with a deprecatory look to seize the photograph, he 
also grasped it. When he saw whom it represented he seemed 
both amused and startled, and after scanning it a while 
handed it to the young man with a queer smile. 

“ I am very sorry,” began Dare, in a low voice to Mr. Power. 
“ I fear I was to blame for thoughtlessness in not destroying it. 
But I thought it was rather funny that a man should permit 
such a thing to be done, and that the humour would redeem the 
offence.” 

“ In you, for purchasing it,” said Paula with haughty quick- 
ness from the other side of the room. “ Though probably his 
friends, if he has any, would say not in him.” 

There was silence in the room after this, and Dare, finding 
himself rather in the way, took his leave as unostentatiously as 
a cat that has upset the family china, though he continued to 
say among his apologies that he was not aware Mr. Somerset 
was a personal friend of the ladies. 

Of all the thoughts which filled the minds of Paula and 
Charlotte De Stancy, the thought that the photograph might 
have been a fabrication was probably the last. To them that 
picture of Somerset h d all the cogency of direct vision. 
Paula’s experience, much less Charlotte’s, had never lain in the 
fields of heliographic science, and they would as soon have 
thought that the sun could again stand still upon Gibeon, as 
that it could be made to falsify men’s characters in delineating 
their features. What Abner Power thought he himself best 
knew. He might have seen such pictures before ; or he might 
never have heard of them. 

While pretending to resume his reading he closely observed 
Paula, as did also Charlotte De Stancy ; but thanks to the self- 
management which was Miss Power’s as much by nature as by 
art, she dissembled whatever emotion was in her. 

“It is a pity a professional man should make himself so 
ludicrous,” she said with such careless intonation that it was 
almost impossible, even for Charlotte, who knew her so well, 
to believe her indifference feigned. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Power, since Charlotte did not speak : “ it 
is what I scarcely should have expected.” 

“ Oh, I am not surprised ! ” said Paula quickly. “ You don’t 
know all.” The inference was, indeed, inevitable that if her 
uncle were made aware of the telegram he would see nothing 


278 


A LAODICEAN. 


unlikely in the picture. “ Well, you are very silent ! ” con 
tinued Paula, petulantly, when she found that nobody went on 
talking. “ What made you cry out ‘ Oh/ Charlotte, when Mr. 
Dare dropped that horrid photograph ? ” 

“ I don’t know ; I suppose it frightened me,” stammered the 
girl. 

“ It was a stupid fuss to make before such a person. One 
would think you were in love with Mr. Somerset.” 

“ What did you say, Paula ? ” inquired her uncle, looking up 
from the newspaper which he had again resumed. 

“ Nothing, Uncle Abner.” She walked to the window, and, 
as if to tide over what was plainly passing in their minds about 
her, she began to make remarks on objects in the street. 
“What a quaint being — look, Charlotte!” It was an old 
woman sitting by a stall on the opposite side of the way, which 
seemed suddenly to hit Paula’s sense of the humorous, though 
beyond the fact that the dame was old and poor, and wore a 
white handkerchief over her head, there was really nothing note- 
worthy about her. 

Paula seemed to be more hurt by what the silence of her 
companions implied — a suspicion that the discovery of 
Somerset’s depravity was wounding her heart — than by the 
wound itself. The ostensible ease with which she drew them 
into a bye conversation had perhaps the defect of proving too 
much: though her tacit contention that no love was in 
question was not incredible on the supposition that affronted 
pride alone caused her embarrassment. The chief symptom 
of her heart being really tender towards Somerset consisted in 
her apparent blindness to Charlotte’s secret, so obviously 
suggested by her momentary agitation. 


CHAPTER V. 

And where was the subject of their condemnatory opinions all 
this while ? Having secured a room at his inn, he came forth 
to complete the discovery of his dear mistress’s halting-place 
without delay. After one or two inquiries he ascertained where 


DE STANCY AMD PAULA . 


279 


such a party of English were staying ; and arriving at the 
hotel, knew at once that he had tracked them to earth by 
seeing the heavier portion of the Power luggage confronting 
him in the hall. He sent up intelligence of his presence, and 
awaited her reply with a beating heart. 

In the meanwhile Dare, descending from his pernicious 
interview with Paula and the rest, had descried Captain De 
Stancy in the public drawing-room, and entered to him forth- 
with. It was while they were here together that Somerset 
passed the door and sent up his name to Paula. 

The incident at the railway station was now reversed, 
Somerset being the observed of Dare, as Dare had then been 
the observed of Somerset. Immediately on sight of him Dare 
showed real alarm. He had imagined that Somerset would 
eventually impinge on Paula’s route, but he had scarcely 
expected it yet ; and the architect’s sudden appearance led 
Dare to ask himself the ominous question whether Somerset 
had discovered his telegraphic trick, and was in the mood for 
prompt measures. 

“ There is no more for me to do here,” said the boy-man 
hastily to De Stancy. “ Miss Power does not wish to ask me 
any more questions. I may as well proceed on my way, as 
you advised.” 

De Stancy, who had also gazed with dismay at Somerset’s 
passing figure, though with dismay of another sort, was recalled 
from his vexation by Dare’s remarks, and turning upon him he 
said sharply, “ Well may you be in such a hurry all of a 
sudden ! ” 

“ True, I am superfluous now.” 

“ You have been doing a foolish thing, and you must suffer 
its inconveniences. — Will, I am sorry for one thing; I am 
sorry I ever owned you ; for you are not a lad to my mind. 
You have disappointed me — disappointed me almost beyond 
endurance.” 

“ I have acted according to my illumination. What can 
you expect of a man born to dishonour? ” 

“ That’s mere speciousness. Before you knew anything 
of me, and while you thought you were the child of poverty 
on both sides, you were well enough ; but ever since you 
thought you were more than that, you have led a life which is 
intolerable. What has become of your plan of alliance 


28 o 


A LAODICEAN, 


between the De Stancys and the Powers now ? The man is 
gone upstairs who can overthrow it all.” 

“ If the man had not gone upstairs, you wouldn’t have 
complained of my nature or my plans,” said Dare, drily. <( If 
I mistake not, he will come down again with the flea in his 
ear. However, I have done ; my play is played out. All 
the rest remains with you. But, captain, grant me this ! If 
when I am gone this difficulty should vanish, and things 
should go well with you, and your suit should prosper, will 
you think of him, bad as he is, who first put you on the track 
of such happiness, and let him know it was not done in vain ? ” 
(f I will,” said De Stancy. “ Promise me that you will be a 
better boy ? ” 

“Very well — as soon as ever I can afford it. Now I am up 
and away, when I have explained to them that I shall not 
require my room.” 

Dare fetched his bag, touched his hat with his umbrella to 
the captain, and went out of the hotel archway. De Stancy 
sat down in the stuffy drawing-room, and wondered what other 
ironies time had in store for him, 

A waiter in the interim had announced Somerset to the 
group upstairs. Paula started as much as Charlotte at hearing 
the name, and Abner Power stared at them both. 

“If Mr. Somerset wishes to see me on business ‘, show him 
in,” said Paula. 

In a few seconds the door was thrown open for Somerset. On 
receipt of the pointed message he guessed that a change had 
come. Time, absence, ambition, her uncle’s influence, and a 
new wooer, seemed to account sufficiently well for that change, 
and he accepted his fate. But a stoical instinct to show that 
he could regard her vicissitudes with the equanirffity that 
became a man ; a desire to ease her mind of any fear she 
might entertain that his connection with her past would render 
him troublesome in future, induced him to accept her per- 
mission, and see the act to the end. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Somerset ? ” said Abner Power, with 
v^irdonic geniality : he had been far enough about the world 
not to be greatly concerned at Somerset’s apparent failing, 
particularly when it helped to reduce him from the rank of 
lover to his niece to that of professional adviser. 

Miss De Stancy faltered a welcome as weak as that of the 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


281 


Maid of Neidpath, and Paula said coldly, “We are rather 
surprised to see you. Perhaps there is something urgent at the 
castle which makes it necessary for you to call ? ” 

“ There is something a little urgent/’ said Somerset slowly, 
as he approached her ; “ and you have judged rightly that it is 
the cause of my call.” He sat down near her chair as he 
spoke, put down his hat, and drew a note-book from his 
pocket with a despairing sang-froid that was far more perfect 
than had been Paula’s demeanour just before. 

“ Perhaps you would like to talk over the business with 
Mr. Somerset alone ? ” murmured Charlotte to Miss Power, 
hardly knowing what she said. 

“ Oh no,” said Paula, “ I think not. Is it necessary ? ” she 
said, turning to him. 

“Not in the least,” replied he, bestowing a penetrating 
glance upon his questioner’s face, which seemed however to 
produce no effect ; and turning towards Charlotte, he added, 
“ You will have the goodness, I am sure, Miss De Stancy, to 
excuse the jargon of professional details.” 

He spread some tracings on the table, and pointed out 
certain modified features to Paula, commenting as he went on, 
and exchanging occasionally a few words on the subject with 
Mr. Abner Power by the distant window. 

In this architectural dialogue over his sketches, Somerset’s 
head and Paula’s became unavoidably very close. The 
temptation was too much for tho young man. Under cover of 
the rustle of the tracings, he murmured, “ Paula, I could not 
get here before ! ” in a low voice inaudible to the other two. 

She did not reply, only busying herself the more with the 
notes and sketches ; and he said again, “ I stayed a couple of 
days at Genoa, and some days at San Remo, and Mentone.” 

“ But it is not the least concern of mine where you stayed 
is it ? ” she said, with a cold yet disquieted look. 

“ Do you speak seriously ? ” Somerset brokenly whispered. 

Paula concluded her examination of the drawings and turned 
from him with sorrowful disregard. He tried no further, 
but, when she had signified her pleasure on the points sub- 
mitted, packed up his papers, and rose with the bearing 01 a 
man altogether superior to such a class of misfortune as this. 
Before going he turned to speak a few words of a general kind 
to Mr. Power and Charlotte. 


282 


A LAODICEAN \ 


“You will stay and dine with us?" said the former, rather 
with the air of being unhappily able to do no less than ask the 
question. “ My charges here won’t go down to the table d'hote, 
I fear, but De Stancy and myself will be there.” 

Somerset excused himself, and in a few minutes withdrew. 
At the door he looked round for an instant, and his eyes met 
Paula’s. There was the same miles-off expression in hers that 
they had worn when he entered ; but there was also a look of 
distressful inquiry, as if she were earnestly expecting him to say 
something more. This of course Somerset did not com- 
prehend. Possibly she was clinging to a hope of some excuse 
for the message he was supposed to have sent, or for the other 
and more degrading matter. Anyhow, Somerset only bowed 
and went away. 

A moment after he had gone, Paula, impelled by something 
or other, crossed the room to the window. In a short time 
she saw his form in the broad street below, which he traversed 
obliquely to an opposite corner, his head somewhat bent, and 
his eyes on the ground. Before vanishing into the Ritterstrasse 
he turned his head and glanced at the hotel windows, as if he 
knew that she was watching him. Then he disappeared ; 
and the only real sign of emotion betrayed by Paula during the 
whole episode escaped her at this moment. It was a slight 
trembling of the lip and a sigh so slowly breathed that scarce 
anybody could hear — scarcely even Charlotte, who was reclining 
on a couch, her face on her hand and her eyes downcast 

Not more than two minutes had elapsed when Mrs. Good- 
man came in with a manner of haste. 

“You have returned,” said Mr. Power. “ Have you made 
your purchases ? ” 

Without answering, she asked, “ Whom, of all people on 
earth, do you think I have met ? Mr. Somerset ! Has he 
been here ? — he passed me almost without speaking ! ” 

“ Yes, he has been here,” said Paula. “ He is on the way 
from Genoa home, and called on business.” 

“ You will have him here to dinner, of course?” 

“ I asked him,” said Mr. Power, “ but he declined.” 

“ Oh, that’s unfortunate ! Surely we could get him to come. 
You would like to have him here, would you not, Paula ? ” 

“No, indeed. I don’t want him here,” said she. 

“You don’t?” 


DE STANCY AND PA ULA. 


283 


“No!” she said sharply. 

“You used to like him well enough, anyhow,” bluntly 
rejoined Mrs. Goodman. 

Paula sedately : “ It is a mistake to suppose that I ever 
particularly liked the gentleman mentioned.” 

“ Then you are wrong, Mrs. Goodman, it seems,” said Mr 
Power. 

Mrs. Goodman, who had been growing quietly indignant, 
notwithstanding a vigorous use of her fan, at this said : “Fie, 
fie, Paula ! you did like him. You said to me only a week or 
two ago that you should not at all object to marry him.” 

“ It is a mistake,” repeated Paula calmly. “ I meant the 
other one of the two we were talking about.” 

“ What, Captain De Stancy ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

Knowing this to be a fiction, Mrs. Goodman made no 
remark, and hearing a slight noise behind, turned her head. 
Seeing her aunt’s action, Paula also looked round. The door 
had been left ajar, and De Stancy was standing in the room. 
The last words of Mrs. Goodman, and Paula’s reply, must have 
been quite audible to him. 

They looked at each other much as if they had unexpectedly 
met at the altar ; but after a momentary start Paula did not 
flinch from the position into which hurt pride had betrayed 
her. De Stancy bowed gracefully, and she merely walked to 
the furthest window, whither he followed her. 

“ I am eternally grateful to you for avowing that I have won 
favour in your sight at last,” he whispered. 

She acknowledged the remark with a somewhat reserved 
bearing. “ Really I don’t deserve your gratitude,” she said. 
“ I did not know you were there.” 

“ I know you did not — that’s why the avowal is so sweet to 
me. Can I take you at your word ? ” 

“ Yes, I suppose.” 

“ Then your preference is the greatest honour that has ever 
fallen to my lot. It is enough : you accept me ? ” 

“ As a lover on probation — no more.” 

The conversation being carried on in low tones, Paula’s 
uncle and aunt took it as a hint that their presence could be 
spared, and severally left the room — the former gladly, the 
latter with some vexation. Charlotte De Stancy followed. 

Vol 7 ( J) 


384 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ And to what am I indebted for this happy change ? ” 
inquired De Stancy, as soon as they were alone. 

“ You shouldn’t look a gift-horse in the mouth,” she replied 
brusquely, and with tears in her eyes for one gone. 

“You mistake my motive. I am like a reprieved criminal, 
and can scarcely believe the news.” 

“You shouldn’t say that to me, or I shall begin to think I 
have been too kind,” she answered, some of the archness of 
her manner returning. “Now, I know what you mean to say 
in answer; but I don’t want to hear any more at present ; and 
whatever you do, don’t fall into the mistake of supposing I have 
accepted you in any other sense than the way I say. I you 
don’t like such a limitation you can go away. I dare say I 
shall get over it.” 

“ Go away ! Could I go away ? — But you are beginning to 
tease, and will soon punish me severely ; so I will make my 
escape while all is well. It would be presumptuous to expect 
more in one day.” 

“ It would indeed,” said Paula, with her eyes on a bunch ol 
flowers. 


CHAPTER VI. 

On leaving the hotel, Somerset’s first impulse was to get cut of 
sight of its windows, and his glance upward had perhaps not 
the tender significance that Paula imagined, the last look im- 
pelled by any such whiff of emotion having been the lingering 
one he bestowed upon her in passing out of the room. Un- 
luckily for the prospects of this attachment, Paula’s conduct 
towards him now, as a result of misrepresentation, had enough 
in common with her previous silence at Nice to make it not 
unreasonable as a further development of that silence. More- 
over, her social position as a woman of wealth, always felt by 
Somerset as a perceptible bar to that full and free eagerness 
with which he would fain have approached her, rendered it 
impossible for him to return to the charge, ascertain the reason 
of her coldness, and dispel it by an explanation, without being 
suspected of mercenary objects. Continually does it happen 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


285 


that a genial willingness to bottle up affronts is set down to 
interested motives by those who do not know what generous 
conduct means. Had she occupied the financial position of 
Miss De Stancy he would readily have persisted further and, 
not improbably, have cleared up the cloud. 

Having no further interest in Carlsruhe, Somerset decided 
to leave by an evening train. The intervening hour he spent 
in wandering into the thick of the fair, where steam round- 
abouts, the proprietors of wax-work shows, and fancy-stall 
keepers maintained a deafening din. The animated environ- 
ment was better than silence, for it fostered in him an artificial 
indifference to the events that had just happened — an indiffer- 
ence which, though he too well knew it was only destined to be 
temporary, afforded a passive period wherein to store up 
strength that should enable him to withstand the wear and tear 
of regrets which would surely set in soon. It was the case 
with Somerset as with others of his temperament, that he did 
not feel a blow of this sort immediately ; and what often 
seemed like stoicism after misfortune was only the neutral 
numbness of transition from palpitating hooe to assured 
wretchedness. 

He walked round and round the fair till all the exhibitors 
knew him by sight, and when the sun got low he turned into 
the Erbprinzen-Strasse, now raked from end to end by en- 
saffroned rays of level light. Seeking his hotel he dined there, 
and left by the evening train for Heidelberg. 

Heidelberg with its romantic surroundings was not precisely 
the place calculated to heal Somerset’s wounded heart. He 
had known the town of yore, and his recollections of that 
period, when, unfettered in fancy, he had transferred to his 
sketch-book the fine Renaissance details of the Otto-Heinrichs- 
Bau came back with unpleasant force. He knew of some 
carved cask-h°ads and other curious wood-work in the castle 
cellars, copies of which, being unobtainable by photographs, 
he had intended to make if all went well between Paula and 
himself. The zest for this was now well-nigh over. But on 
awaking in ihe morning and looking up the valley towards the 
castle, and at the dark green height of tHe Konigsstuhl along- 
side, he felt that to become vanquished by a passion, driven to 
suffer, fast, and pray in the dull pains and vapours of despised 


286 


A LAODICEAN . 


love, was a contingency not to be welcomed too readily. 
Thereupon he set himself to learn the sad science of renuncia- 
tion, which everybody has to learn in his degree — either 
rebelling throughout the lesson, or, like Somerset, taking to it 
kindly by force of judgment. A more obstinate pupil might 
have altogether escaped the lesson in the present case by dis- 
covering its illegality. 

Resolving to persevere in the heretofore satisfactory paths of 
art while life and faculties were left, though every instant must 
proclaim that there would be no longer any collateral attraction 
in that pursuit, he went along under the trees of the Anlage 
and reached the castle vaults, in whose cool shades he spent 
the afternoon, working out his intentions with fair result. When 
he had strolled back to his hotel in the evening the time was 
approaching for the table Ehote. Having seated himself rather 
early, he spent the few minutes of waiting in looking over his 
pocket-book, and putting a few finishing touches to the after- 
noon performance whilst the objects were fresh in his memory. 
Thus occupied he was but dimly conscious of the customary 
rustle of dresses and pulling up of chairs by the crowd of other 
diners as they gathered around him. Serving began, and he 
put away his book and prepared for the meal. He had hardly 
done this when he became conscious that the person on his 
left hand was not the typical cosmopolite with boundless hotel 
knowledge and irrelevant experiences that he was accustomed 
to find next hirti, but a face he recognised as that of a young 
man whom he had met and talked to at Stancy Castle garden- 
party, whose name he had now forgotten. This young fellow 
was conversing with somebody on his left hand — no other 
personage than Paula herself. Next to Paula he beheld De 
Stancy, and De Stancy’s sister beyond him. It was one of 
those gratuitous encounters which only happen to discarded 
lovers who have shown commendable stoicism under disap- 
pointment, as if on purpose to re-open and aggravate their 
wounds. 

It seemed as if the intervening traveller had met the other 
party by accident there and then. In a minute he turned and 
recognised Somerset, and by degrees the young me»’s cursory 
remarks to each other* developed into a pretty regular conver- 
sation, interrupted only when he turned to speak to Paula on 
his left hand. 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


2S7 


u Your architectural adviser travels in your party : how very 
convenient,” said the young tourist to her. “ Far pleasanter 
than having a medical attendant in one’s train ! ” 

Somerset, who had no distractions on the other side of him, 
could hear every word of this. He glanced at Paula. She 
had not known of his presence in the room till now. Their 
eyes met for a second, and she bowed sedately. Somerset re- 
turned her bow, and her eyes were quickly withdrawn with 
scarcely visible confusion. 

“Mr. Somerset is not travelling with us,” she said. “We 
have met by accident. Mr. Somerset came to me on business 
a little while ago.” 

“ I must congratulate you on having put the castle into good 
hands,” continued the enthusiastic young man. 

“ I believe Mr. Somerset is quite competent,” said Paula 
stiffly. 

To include Somerset in the conversation the young man 
turned to him and added : “ You carry on your work at the 
castle con amore, no doubt ? ” 

“ There is work I should like better,” said Somerset. 

“ Indeed?” 

The frigidity of his manner seemed to set her at ease by dis- 
persing all fear of a scene ; and alternate dialogues of this sort 
with the gentleman in their midst were more or less continued 
by both Paula and Somerset till they rose from table. 

In the bustle of moving out the two latter for one moment 
stood side by side. 

“ Miss Power,” said Somerset in a low voice that was ob 
scured by the rustle; “you have nothing more to say 
to me ? ” 

“ I think there is nothing more ? ” said Paula, lifting her 
eyes with longing reticence. 

“ Then I take leave of you ; and tender my best wishes that 
you may have a pleasant time before you ! ... I set out for 
England to-night.” 

“ With a special photographer, no doubt ? ” 

It was the first time that she had addressed Somerset with 
a meaning distinctly bitter; and her remark, which had 
reference to the forged photograph, fell of course without its 
intended effect 

“ No, Miss Power,” said Somerset gravely. “ But with a 


288 


A LAODICEAN. 


deeper sense of woman’s thoughtless trifling than time will ever 
eradicate.” 

“ Is not that a mistake ? ” she asked in a voice that distinctly 
trembled. 

“A mistake? How?” 

“ I mean, do you not forget many things ? ” (throwing on 
him a troubled glance). “ A woman may feel herself justified 
in her conduct, although it admits of no explanation.” 

“ I don’t contest the point for a moment. . . . Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye.” 

They parted amid the flowering shrubs and caged birds in 
the hall, and he saw her no more. De Stancy came up, and 
spoke a few commonplace words, his sister having gone out, 
either without perceiving Somerset, or with intention to avoid 
him. 

That night, as he had said, he was on his way to England. 


CHAPTER VII. 

The De Stancys and Powers remained in Heidelberg for 
some days. All remarked that after Somerset’s departure 
Paula was frequently irritable, though at other times as serene 
as ever. Yet even when in a blithe and saucy mood there was 
at bottom a tinge of melancholy. Something did not lie easy 
in her undemonstrative heart, and all her friends excused the 
inequalities of a humour whose source, though not positively 
known, could be fairly well guessed. 

De Stancy had long since discovered that his chance lay 
chiefly in her recently acquired and fanciful predilection d artiste 
for hoary mediaeval families with ancestors in alabaster and 
primogenitive renown. Seeing this he dwelt on those topics 
which brought out that aspect of himself more clearly, talking 
feudalism and chivalry with a zest that he had never hitherto 
shown. Yet it was not altogether factitious. For, discovering 
how much this quondam Puritan was interested in the attributes 
of long-chronicled houses, a reflected interest in himself arose in 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


289 


his own soul, and he began to wonder why he had not prized 
these things before. Till now disgusted by the failure of his 
family to hold its own in the turmoil between ancient and 
modern, he had grown to undervalue its past prestige ; and it 
was with corrective ardour that he adopted while he ministered 
to her views. 

Henceforward the wooing of De Stancy took the form of an 
intermittent address, the incidents of their travel furnishing 
pegs whereon to hang his subject ; sometimes hindering it, but 
seldom failing to produce in her a greater tolerance of his 
presence. His next opportunity was the day after Somerset’s 
departure from Heidelberg. They stood on the great terrace 
of the Schloss-Garten, looking across the intervening ravine to 
the north-east front of the castle which rose before them in all 
its customary warm tints and battered magnificence. 

“ This is a spot, if any, which should bring matters to a crisis 
between you and me,” he asserted good-humouredly. “ But 
you have been so silent to-day that I lose the spirit to take 
advantage of my privilege.” 

She inquired what privilege he spoke of, as if quite another 
subject had been in her mind than De Stancy. 

“ The privilege of winning your heart if I can, which you 
gave me at Carlsruhe.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I’ve been thinking of that. But I 
do no feel myself absolutely bound by the statement I made in 
that room ; and I shall expect, if I withdraw it, not to be called 
to account by you.” 

De Stancy looked rather blank. 

“If you recede from your promise you will doubtless have 
good reason. But I must solemnly beg yoy, after raising my 
hopes, to keep as near as you can to your word, so as not to 
throw me into utter despair.” 

Paula dropped her glance into the Thier-Garten below them, 
where gay promenaders were clambering up between the bushes 
and flowers. At length she said, with evident embarrassment, 
but with much distinctness : “ I deserve much more blame for 
what I have done than you can express to me. I will confess 
to you the whole truth. All that I told you in the hotel at 
Carlsruhe was said in a moment of pique at what had happened 
just before you came in. It was supposed I was much involved 
with another man, and circumstances made the supposition 

u 


290 


A LAODICEAN. 


particularly objectionable. To escape it I jumped at the alter- 
native of yourself.” 

•* That’s Dad for me !” he murmured. 

“If after this avowal you bind me to my words I shall say 
no more : I do not wish to recede from them without your full 
permission.” 

“ What a caprice ! But I release you unconditionally,” he 
said. “ And I beg your pardon if I seemed to show too much 
assurance. Please put it down to my gratified excitement. I 
entirely acquiesce in your wish. I will go away to whatever 
place you please, and not come near you but by your own 
permission, and till you are quite satisfied that my presence and 
what it may lead to is not undesirable. I entirely give way 
before you, and will endeavour to make my future devotedness, 
if ever we meet again, a new ground for expecting your 
favour.” 

Paula seemed struck by the generous and cheerful fairness of 
his remarks, and said gently, “ Perhaps your departure is not 
absolutely necessary for my happiness ; and I do not wish from 
what you call caprice ” 

“ I retract that word.” 

“ Well, whatever it is, I don’t wish you to do anything which 
should cause you real pain, or trouble, or humiliation.” 

“ That’s very good of you.” 

“ But I reserve to myself the right to accept or refuse your 
addresses — just as if those rash words of mine had never been 
spoken.” 

“ I must bear it all as best I can, I suppose,” said De 
Stancy, with melancholy humorousness. 

“And I shall treat you as your behaviour shall seem to 
deserve,” she said playfully. 

“ Then I may stay ? ” 

“ Yes ; I am willing to give you that pleasure, if it is one, in 
return for the attentions you have shown, and the trouble you 
have taken to make my journey pleasant.” 

She walked on and discovered Mrs. Goodman near, and 
presently the whole party met together. De Stancy did not 
find himself again at her side till later in the afternoon, when 
they had left the immediate precincts of the castle and decided 
on a drive to the Konigsstuhl. 

The carriage, containing only Mrs. Goodman, was driven a 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


291 


short way up the winding incline, Paula, her uncle, and Miss De 
Stancy walking behind under the shadow of the trees. Then 
Mrs. Goodman called to them and asked when they were going 
to join her, 

“ We are going to walk up,” said Mr. Power. 

Paula seemed seized with a spirit of boisterousness quite 
unlike her usual behaviour. “ My aunt may drive up, and you 
may walk up ; but I shall run up,” she said. “ See, here’s a 
way.” She tripped towards a path through the bushes which, 
instead of winding like the regular track, made straight for the 
summit 

Paula had not the remotest conception of the actual distance 
to the top, imagining it to be but a couple of hundred yards at 
the outside, whereas it was really nearer a mile, the ascent being 
uniformly steep all the way. When her uncle and De Stancy 
had seen her vanish they stood still, the former evidently 
reluctant to forsake the easy ascent for a difficult one, though 
he said, “We can’t let her go alone that way, I suppose.” 

“ No, of course not,” said De Stancy. 

They then followed in the direction taken by Paula, Char- 
lotte entering the carriage. When Power and De Stancy had as- 
cended about fifty yards the former looked back, and dropped 
off from the pursuit, to return to the easy route, giving his 
companion a parting hint concerning Paula. Thereupon De 
Stancy went on alone. He soon saw Paula above him in 
the path, which ascended skyward straight as Jacob’s Ladder, 
but was so overhung by the brushwood as to be quite shut out 
from the sun. When he .reached her side she was moving 
easily upward, apparently enjoying the seclusion which the 
place afforded. 

“ is not my uncle with you ?” she said, on turning and 
seeing him. 

“ He went back,” said De Stancy. 

She replied that it was of no consequence ; that she should 
meet him at the top, she supposed. 

Paula looked up amid the green light which filtered through 
the leafage as far as her eyes could stretch. But the top did 
not appear, and she allowed De Stancy to get in front. “ It 
did not seem such a long way as this, to look at,” she 
presently said. 

He explained that the trees had deceived her as to the real 

u 2 


292 


A LAODICEAN. 


height, by reason of her seeing the slope fore-shortened when 
she looked up from the castle. “ Allow me to help you,” he 
added. 

“ No, thank you,” said Paula, lightly; “we must be near the 
top.” 

They went on again ; but no Konigsstuhl. When next De 
Stancy turned he found that she was sitting down ; immediately 
going back he offered his arm. She took it in silence, declaring 
that it was no wonder her uncle did not come that wearisome 
way, if he had ever been there before. 

De Stancy did not explain that Mr. Power had said to him at 
parting, “ There’s a chance for you, if you want one,” but at 
once went on with the subject begun on the terrace. “ If my 
behaviour* is good, you will reaffirm the statement made at 
Carlsruhe ? ” 

It is not fair to begin that now ! ” expostulated Paula; “ I 
can only think of getting to the top.” 

Her colour deepening by the exertion, he suggested that she 
should sit down again on one of the mossy boulders by the 
wayside. Nothing loth she did, De Stancy standing by, and 
with his cane scratching the moss from the stone. 

“ This is rather awkward,” said Paula, in her usual cir- 
cumspect way. “ My relatives and your sister will be sure to 
suspect me of having arranged this scramble with you.” 

“ But I know better,” sighed De Stancy. " I wish to 
Heaven you had arranged it ! ” 

She was not at the top, but she took advantage of the halt 
to answer his previous question. “ There are many points on 
which I must be satisfied before I can reaffirm anything. Do 
you not see that you are mistaken in clinging to this idea ? — 
that you are laying up mortification and disappointment for 
yourself? ” 

“ A negative reply from you would be disappointment, early 
or late.” 

“ And you prefer having it late to accepting it now ? If I were a 
man, I should like to abandon a false scent as soon as possible.” 

“ I suppose all that has but one meaning : that I am to go.” 

“ Oh, no,” she magnanimously assured him, bounding up 
from her seat ; “ I adhere to my statement that you may stay ; 
though it. is true something may possibly happen to make me 
alter my mind.” 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 293 

He again offered his arm, and from sheer necessity sht 
leant upon it as before. 

“ Grant me but a moment’s patience,” he began. 

“ Captain De Stancy ! Is this fair? I am physically obliged 
to hold your arm, so that I must listen to what you say ! ” 

“ No, it is not fair ; ’pon my soul it is not ! ” said De Stancy. 
“ I won’t say another word.” 

He did not ; and they clambered on through the boughs, 
nothing disturbing the solitude but the rustle of their own foot- 
steps and the singing of birds overhead. They occasionally got 
a peep at the sky ; and whenever a twig hung out in a position 
to strike Paula’s face the gallant captain bent it aside with his 
stick. But she did not thank him. Perhaps he was just as well 
satisfied as if she had done so. 

Paula, panting, broke the silence : “ Will you go on, and 
discover if the top is near ? ” 

He went on. This time the top was near. When he 
returned she was sitting where he had left her among the leaves. 
“ It is quite near now,” he told her tenderly, and she took his 
arm again without a word. Soon the path changed its nature 
from a steep and rugged water-course to a level green 
promenade. 

“ Thank you, Captain De Stancy,” she said, letting go his 
arm as if relieved. 

Before them rose the tower, and at the base they beheld two 
of their friends, Mr. Power being seen above, looking over the 
parapet through his glass. 

“ You will go to the top now?” said De Stancy. 

“No, I take no interest in it My interest has turned to 
fatigue. I only want to go home.” 

He took her on to where the carriage stood at the foot of the 
tower, and leaving her with his sister ascended the turret to the 
top. The landscape had quite changed from its afternoon 
appearance, and had become rather marvellous than beautiful. 
The air was charged with a lurid exhalation that blurred the 
extensive view. He could see the distant Rhine at its junction 
with the Neckar, shining like a thread of blood through the mist 
which was gradually wrapping up the declining sun. The 
scene had in it something that was more than melancholy, and 
not much less than tragic ; but for De Stancy such evening 
effects possessed little meaning. He was engaged in an enter* 


294 


A LAODICEAN. 


prise that taxed all his resources, and had no sentiments to 
spare for air, earth, or skies. 

“ Remarkable scene/’ said Power, mildly, at his elbow. 

“ Yes; I dare say it is,” said De Stancy. “Time has been 
when I should have held forth upon such a prospect, and 
wondered if its livid colours shadowed out my own life, et 
caetera, et caetera. But, begad, I have almost forgotten there’s 
such a thing as Nature, and I care for nothing but a comfort- 
able life, and a certain woman who does not care for me 1 . . . 
Now shall we go down ? ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

It was quite true that De Stancy at the present period of his 
existence wished only to escape from the hurly-burly of active 
life, and to win the affection of Paula Power. There were, 
however, occasions when a recollection of his old renunciatory 
vows would obtrude itself upon him, and tinge his present with 
wayward bitterness. So much was this the case that a day or 
two after they had arrived at Mainz he could not refrain from 
making remarks almost prejudicial to his cause, saying to her, 
“ I am unfortunate in my situation. There are, unhappily, 
worldly reasons why I should pretend to love you, even if I do 
not : they are so strong that, though really loving you, perhaps 
they enter into my thoughts of you.” 

“ I don’t want to know what such reasons are,” said Paula, 
with promptness, for it required but little astuteness to discover 
that he alluded to her possession of his ancestral home and 
estates. “ You lack tone,” she gently added : “ that’s why the 
situation of affairs seems distasteful to you.” 

“ Yes, I suppose I am ill. And yet I am well enough.” 

These remarks passed under a tree in the public gardens 
during an odd minute of waiting for Charlotte and Mrs. 
Goodman ; and he said no more to her in private that day. 
Few as her words had been he liked them better than any he 
had lately received. The conversation was not resumed till 
they were gliding “ between the banks that bear the vine,” on 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


295 


board one of the Rhine steamboats, which, like the hotels in 
this early summer time, were comparatively free from other 
English travellers ; so that everywhere Paula and her party 
were received with open arms and cheerful countenances, as 
among the first swallows of the season. 

The saloon of the steamboat was quite empty, the few pas- 
sengers being outside ; and this paucity of voyagers afforded 
De Stancy a roomy opportunity. 

Paula saw him approach her, and there appearing in his face 
signs that he would begin again on the eternal subject, she 
seemed to be struck with a sense of the ludicrous. 

De Stancy reddened. “ Something seems to amuse you,” he 
said. 

“ It is over,” she replied, becoming serious. 

“ Was it about me, and this unhappy fever in me ? ” 

“ If I speak the truth I must say it was.” 

“You thought, ‘Here’s that absurd man again, going to 
begin his daily supplication.’ ” 

“Not ‘absurd,’” she said, with emphasis; “because I don’t 
think it is absurd.” 

She continued looking through the windows at the Lurlei 
Heights under which they were now sailing, and he remained 
with his eyes on her. 

“ May I stay here with you ? ” he said at last “ I have not 
had a word with you alone for four-and-twenty hours.” 

“ You must be cheerful, then.” 

“ You have said such as that before. I wish you would say 
‘ loving ’ instead of ‘ cheerful.’ ” 

“ Yes, I know, I know,” she responded, with impatient 
perplexity. “ But why must you think of me — me only ? Is 
there no other woman in the world who has the power to make 
you happy ? Iam sure there must be.” 

“ Perhaps there is ; but I have never seen her.” 

“ Then look for her ; and believe me when I say that you 
will certainly find her.” 

He shook his head. 

“ Captain De Stancy, I have long felt for you,” she con- 
tinued, with a frank glance into his face. “ You have deprived 
yourself too long of other women’s company. Why not go 
away for a little time ? and when you have found somebody 
else likely to make you happy, you can meet me again. I will 


296 


A LAODICEAN. 


see you at your father’s house, and we will enjoy all the pleasure 
of easy friendship.” 

“ Very correct ; and' very cold, O best of women ! ” 

“You are too full of exclamations and transports, I think !” 

They stood in silence, Paula apparently much interested in 
the manoeuvring of a raft which was passing by. “ Dear Miss 
Power,” he resumed, “ before I go and join your uncle above, 
let me just ask, Do I stand any chance at all yet*? Is it 
possible you can never be more pliant than you have been ? ” 

“ You put me out of all patience ! ” 

“But why did you raise my hopes? You should at least 
pity me after doing that.” 

“ Yes ; it’s that again ! I unfortunately raised your hopes 
because I was a fool — was not myself that moment Now 
question me no more. As it is I think you presume too much 
upon my becoming yours as the consequence of my having 
dismissed another.” 

“ Not on becoming mine, but on listening to me.” 

“Your argument would be reasonable enough had I led 
you to believe I would listen to you — and ultimately accept 
you ; but that I have not done. I see now that a woman who 
gives a man an answer one shade less peremptory than a harsh 
negative may be carried beyond her intentions, and out of her 
own power before she knows it.” 

“ Chide me if you will ; I don’t care.” 

She looked steadfastly at him with a little mischief in her 
eyes. “You do care,” she said. 

“ Then why don’t you listen tome? I would not persevere 
for a moment longer if it were against the wishes of your 
family. Your uncle says it would give him pleasure to see you 
accept me.” 

“Does he say why ? ” she asked, thoughtfully. 

“Yes; he takes, of course, a practical view of the matter; 
he thinks it commends itself so to reason and common sense 
that the owner of Stancy Castle should become a member of 
the De Stancy family.” 

“ Yes, that’s the horrid plague of it,” she said, with a non- 
chalance which seemed to contradict her words. “ It is 
so dreadfully reasonable that we should marry. I wish it 
wasn’t.” 

“ Well, you are younger than I, and perhaps that’s a natural 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


297 


wish. But to me it seems a felicitous combination not often 
met with. I confess that your interest in our family before you 
knew me lent a stability to my hopes that otherwise they would 
not have had.” 

“ My interest in the De Stancys has not been a personal 
interest except in the case of your sister,” she returned. “ It 
has been an historical interest only ; and is not at all increased 
by your existence.” 

“ And perhaps it is not diminished ? ” 

“No, I am not aware that it is diminished,” she murmured, 
as she observed the gliding shore. 

“ Well, you will allow me to say this, since I say it without 
reference to your personality or to mine — that the Power and 
De Stancy families are the complements to each other; and 
that, abstractedly, they call earnestly to one another : * How 
neat and fit a thing for us to join hands ! ’ ” 

Paula, who was not prudish when a direct appeal was made 
to her common sense, answered with ready candour : “ Yes, 
from the point of view of domestic politics, that undoubtedly is 
the case. But I hope I am not so calculating as to risk 
happiness in order to round off a social idea.” 

“ I hope not ; or that I am either. Still the social idea 
exists, and my increased years make its excellence more obvious 
to me than to you.” 

The ice once broken on this aspect of the question, the 
subject seemed rather to engross her, and she spoke on as if 
daringly inclined to venture where she* had never anticipated 
going, deriving pleasure from the very strangeness of her 
temerity : “ You mean that in the fitness of things I ought to 
become a De Stancy to strengthen my social position ? ” 

“ And that I ought to strengthen mine by alliance with the 
heiress of a name so dear to engineering science as Power.” 

“ Well, we are talking with unexpected frankness.” 

“ But you are not seriously displeased with me for saying 
what, after all, one can’t help feeling and thinking ? ” 

“ No. Only be so good as to leave off going further for the 
present. Indeed, of the two, I would rather have the other 
sort of address. I mean,” she hastily added, “ that what you 
urge as the result of a real affection, however unsuitable, I have 
some remote satisfaction in listening to — not the least from any 
reciprocal love on my side, but from a woman’s gratification at 


298 


A LAODICEAN. 


being the object of anybody’s devotion ; for that feeling towards 
her is always regarded as a merit in a woman’s eye, and taken 
as a kindness by her, even when it is at the expense of her 
convenience.” 

She had said, voluntarily or involuntarily, better things than 
he expected, and perhaps too much in her own opinion, for she 
hardly gave him an opportunity of replying. 

They passed St. Goar and Boppard, and when steering 
round the sharp bend of river just beyond the latter place 
De Stancy met her again, exclaiming, “ You left me very 
suddenly.” 

“ You must make allowances, please,” she said ; “ I have 
always stood in need of them.” 

“ Then you shall always have them.” 

“ I don’t doubt it,” she said, quickly ; but Paula was not to 
be caught again, and kept close to the side of her aunt while 
they glided past Brauback and Oberlahnstein. Approaching 
Coblenz her aunt said, “ Paula, let me suggest that you be not 
so much alone with Captain De Stancy.” 

“And why?” said Paula, quietly. 

“ You’ll have plenty of offers if you want them, without 
taking trouble,” said the direct Mrs. Goodman. “Your 
existence is hardly known to the world yet, and Captain De 
Stancy is too near middle-age for a girl like you.” Paula did 
not reply to either of these remarks, being seemingly so 
interested in Ehrenbreitstein heights as not to hear them. 


CHAPTER IX. 

It was midnight at Coblenz, and the travellers had retired to 
rest in their respective apartments, overlooking the river. 
Finding that there was a moon shining, Paula leant out of 
her window. The tall rock of Ehrenbreitstein on the opposite 
shore was flooded with light, and a belated steamer was draw- 
ing up to the landing-stage, where it presently deposited its 
passengers. 

“We should have come by the last boat, so as to have been 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


touched into romance by the rays of this moon, like those happy 
people,” said a voice. 

She looked towards the spot whence the voice proceeded, 
which was a window quite near at hand. De Stancy was 
smoking outside it, and she became aware that the words were 
addressed to her. 

“ You left me very abruptly,” he continued. 

Paula’s instinct of caution impelled her to speak. “ The 
windows are all open,” she murmured. 41 Please be careful.” 

“There are no English in this hotel except ourselves. I 
thank you for what you said to-day.” 

“ Please be careful,” she repeated. 

“ My dear Miss P ” 

“ Don’t mention names, and don’t continue the subject.” 

“ Life and death perhaps depend upon my renewing it 
soon.” 

“ She shut the window decisively, possibly wondering if De 
Stancy had drunk a glass or two of Steinberg more than was 
good for him, and saw no more of moonlit Ehrenbreitstein that 
night, and heard no more of De Stancy. But it was some time 
before he closed his window, and previous to doing so saw a 
dark form at an adjoining one on the other side. 

It was Mr. Power, also taking the air. 

“Well, what luck to-day?” said Power. 

“ A decided advance,” said De Stancy. 

None of the speakers knew that a little person in the room 
above heard all this out-of-window talk. Charlotte, though not 
looking out, had left her casement open ; and what reached her 
ears set her wondering as to the result. 

It is not necessary to detail in full De Stancy’s imperceptible 
advances with Paula during that northward journey — so slowly 
performed that it seemed as if she must perceive there was a 
special reason for delaying her return to England. At Cologne 
one day he conveniently overtook her when she was ascending 
the hotel staircase. Seeing him, she went to the window of the 
entresol landing, which commanded a view of the Rhine, 
meaning that he should pass by to his room. 

“ I have been very uneasy,” began the captain, drawing up 
to her side ; “ and I am obliged to trouble you sooner than I 
meant to do.” 

Paula turned her eyes upon him with some curiosity as to 


3 oo A LAODICEAN. 

what was coming of this respectful demeanour. “ Indeed ! ” 
she said. 

He then informed her that he had been overhauling himself 
since they last talked, and had some reason to blame himself 
for bluntness and general want of euphemism ; which, although 
he had meant nothing by it, must have been very disagreeable 
to her. But he had always aimed at sincerity, particularly as 
he had to deal with a lady who despised hyprocrisy and was 
above flattery. However, he feared he might have carried his 
disregard for conventionality too fan But from that time he 
would promise that she should find an alteration by which he 
hoped he might return the friendship at least of a young lady 
he honoured more than any other in the world. 

This retrograde movement was evidently unexpected by the 
honoured young lady herself. After being so long accustomed 
to rebuke him for his persistence there was novelty in finding 
him do the work for her. The guess might even have been 
hazarded that there was also disappointment. 

Still looking across the river upon the bridge of boats which 
stretched to the opposite suburb of Deutz : “ You need not 
blame yourself,” she said, with the mildest conceivable manner, 
“ I can make allowances. All I wish is that you should remain 
under no misapprehension.” 

“ I comprehend,” he said, thoughtfully. “ But since, by 
a perverse fate, I have been thrown into your company, you 
could hardly expect me to feel and act otherwise.” 

'“ Perhaps not.” 

“Since I have so much reason to be dissatisfied with 
myself,” he added, “ I cannot refrain from criticising elsewhere 
to a slight extent, and thinking I have to do with an ungenerous 
person.” 

“ Why ungenerous ? ” she asked. 

“ In this way ; that since you cannot love me, you see no 
reason at all for trying to do so in the fact that I so deeply 
love you ; hence I say that you are rather to be distinguished 
by your wisdom than by your humanity.” 

“ It comes to this, that if your words are all seriously meant 
it is much to be regretted we ever met,” she murmured. 
“Now will you go on to where you were going, and leave 
me here ? ” 

Without a remonstrance he went on, saying with dejected 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


301 


whimsicality as he smiled back upon her, “ You show a wisdom 
which for so young a lady is perfectly surprising.” 

It was resolved to prolong the journey by a circuit through 
Holland and Belgium ; but nothing changed in the attitudes 
of Paula and Captain De Stancy till one afternoon during their 
stay at the Hague, when they had gone for a drive down to 
Scheveningen by the long straight avenue of chestnuts and 
limes, under whose boughs tufts of wild parsley waved their 
flowers except where the buitenplaatsen of retired merchants 
blazed forth with new paint of every hue. On mounting the 
dune which kept out the sea behind the village a brisk breeze 
greeted their faces, and a fine sand blew up into their eyes. De 
Stancy screened Paula with his umbrella as they stood with 
their backs to the wind, looking down on the red roofs of the 
village within the sea wall, and pulling at the long grass which by 
some means found nourishment in the powdery soil of the dune. 

When they had discussed the scene he continued, “ It always 
seems to me that this place reflects the average mood of human 
life. I mean, if we strike the balance between our best moods 
and our worst we shall find our average condition to stand at 
about the same pitch in emotional colour as these sandy dunes 
and this grey scene do in landscape. 

Paula contended that he ought not to measure everybody by 
himself. 

“ I have no other standard,” said De Stancy ; “ and if my 
own is wrong, it is you who have made it so. Have you 
thought any more of what I said at Cologne ? ” 

“ I don’t quite remember what you did say at Cologne ? ” 

“ My dearest life ! ” Paula’s eyes rounding somewhat, he 
corrected the exclamation. “My dear Miss Power, I will, 
without reserve, tell it to you all over again.” 

“ Pray spare yourself the effort,” she said drily. What has 
that one fatal step betrayed me into ! ... Do you seriously 
mean to say that I am the cause of your life being coloured like 
this scene of grass and sand ? If so, I have committed a very 
great fault.” 

“ It can be nullified by a word.” 

u Such a word.” 

u It is a very short one.” 

«« There’s a still shorter one more to the purpose. Frankly, 
I believe you suspect me to have some latent and unowned 


302 


A LAODICEAN, 


inclination for you — that you think speaking is the only point 
upon which I am backward. . . . There now, it is raining ; 
what shall we do ? I thought this wind meant rain.” 

“ Do ? Stand on here, as we are standing now.” 

“ Your sister and my aunt are gone under the wall. I think 
we will walk towards them.” 

‘‘You had made me hope,” he continued (his thoughts 
apparently far away from the rain and the wind and the 
possibility of shelter), “ that you might change your mind, and 
give to your original promise a liberal meaning in renewing it 
In brief I mean this, that you would allow it to merge into an 
engagement. Don’t think it presumptuous,” he went on, as he 
held the umbrella over her ; “I am sure any man would speak 
as I do. A distinct permission to be with you on probation — 
that was what you gave me at Carlsruhe : and flinging casuistry 
on one side, what does that mean ? ” 

“That I am artistically interested in your family history.” 
And she went out from the umbrella to the shelter of the hotel 
where she found her aunt and friend. 

De Stancy could not but feel that his persistence had made 
some impression. It was hardly possible that a woman of in- 
dependent nature would have tolerated his dangling at her side 
so long, if his presence were wholly distasteful to her. That 
evening when driving back to the Hague by a devious route 
through the dense avenues of the Bosch he conversed with her 
again ; also the next day when standing by the Vijver looking 
at the swans : and in each case she seemed to have at least got 
over her objection to being seen talking to him, apart from the 
remainder of the travelling party. 

Scenes very similar to those at Scheveningen and on the 
Rhine were enacted at later stages of their desultory journey. 
Mr. Power had proposed to cross from Rotterdam ; but a stiff 
north-westerly breeze prevailing Paula herself became reluctant 
to hasten back to Stancy Castle. Turning abruptly they made 
for Brussels. 

It was here, while walking homeward from the Park one 
morning that her uncle for the first time alluded to. the situation 
of affairs between herself and her admirer. The captain had 
gone up the Rue Royale with his sister and Mrs. Goodman, 
either to show them the house in which the ball took place on 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


303 


the eve of Quatre Bras or some other site of interest, and the 
two Powers were thus left to themselves. ' To reach their hotel 
they passed into a little street sloping steeply down from the 
Rue Royale to the Place Ste. Gudule, where, at the moment of 
nearing the cathedral, a wedding party emerged from the porch 
and crossed in front of uncle and niece. 

“ I hope,” said the former, in his passionless way, “ we shall 
see a peformance of this sort between you and Captain De 
Stancy, not so very long after our return to England.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Paula, following the bride with her eyes. 

“ It is diplomatically, as I may say, such a highly correct 
thing — such an expedient thing — such an obvious tiring to 
all eyes.” 

“ Not altogether to mine, uncle,” she returned. 

“ ’Twould be a thousand pities to let slip such a neat offer 
of adjusting difficulties as accident makes you in this. You 
could marry more tin, that’s true ; but you don’t want it, 
Paula. You want a name, and historic what-do-they-call-it. 
Now by coming to terms with the captain you’ll be Lady De 
Stancy in a few years : and a title which is useless to him, and 
a fortune and castle which are in some degree useless to you, 
will make a splendid whole useful to you both.” 

“ I’ve thought it over — quite,” she answered. “ And I quite 
see what the advantages are. But how if I don’t care one 
atom for artistic completeness and a splendid whole ; and do 
care very much to do what my fancy inclines me to do ? ” 

“Then I should say that, taking a comprehensive view of 
human nature of all colours, your fancy is about the silliest 
fancy existing on this earthly ball.” 

Paula laughed indifferently, and her uncle felt that, persistent 
as was his nature, he was the wrong man to influence her by 
argument. Paula’s blindness to the advantages of the match, 
if she were blind, was that of a woman who wouldn’t see, and 
the best argument was silence. 

This was in some measure proved the next morning. When 
Paula made her appearance Mrs. Goodman said, holding up an 
envelope : “ Here’s a letter from Mr. Somerset.” 

“ Dear me,” said she, blandly, though a quick little flush 
ascended her cheek. “ I had nearly forgotten him ! ” 

The letter on being read contained a request as brief as it 
was unexpected. Having prepared all the drawings necessary 


3©4 


A LAODICEAN. 


for the rebuilding, Somerset begged leave to resign the superin- 
tendence of the work into other hands. 

“ His letter caps your remarks very aptly," said Mrs. Good- 
man, with secret triumph. “You are nearly forgetting him, 
and he is quite forgetting you." 

“ Yes,” 'said Paula, affecting carelessness. ** Well, I must 
get somebody else, I suppose." 


CHAPTER X. 

They next deviated to Amiens, intending to stay there only 
one night ; but their schemes were deranged by the sudden 
illness of Charlotte. She had been looking unwell for a fort- 
night past, though, with her usual self-abnegation, she had 
made light of her ailment. Even now she declared she could 
go on ; but this was said over-night, and in the morning it was 
abundantly evident that to move her was highly unadvisable. 
Still she was not in serious danger, and having called in a 
physician, who pronounced rest indispensable, they prepared to 
remain in the old Picard capital Two or three additional days. 
Mr. Power thought he would take advantage of the halt to run 
up to Paris, leaving De Stancy in charge of the ladies. 

In more ways than in the illness of Charlotte this day was 
the harbinger of a crisis. 

It was a summer evening without a cloud. Charlotte had 
fallen asleep in her bed, and Paula, who had been sitting by 
her, looked out into the Place St. Denis, which the hotel com- 
manded. The lawn of the square was all ablaze with red and 
yellow clumps of flowers, the acacia trees were brightly green, 
the sun was soft and low. Tempted by the prospect Paula 
went and put on her hat ; and arousing her aunt, who was 
nodding in the next room, to request her to keep an ear on 
Charlotte’s bedroom, Paula descended into the Rue de Noyon 
alone, and entered the green enclosure. 

While she walked round, two or three little children in 
charge of a nurse trundled a large variegated ball along the 
grass, and it rolled to Paula’s feet. She smiled at them, and 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


305 


endeavoured to return it by a slight kick. The ball rose in 
the air, and passing over the back of a seat which stood under 
one of the trees, alighted in the lap of a gentleman hitherto 
screened by its boughs. The back and shoulders proved to be 
those of De Stancy. He turned his head, jumped up, and was 
at her side in an instant, a nettled flush having meanwhile 
crossed Paula’s face. 

“ I thought you had gone to the Hotoie Promenade,” she 
said hastily. “Iam going to the cathedral ” (obviously uttered 
lest it should seem that she had seen him from the hotel 
windows, and entered the square for his company). 

“Of course : there is nothing else to go to here — even for 
Roundheads.” 

“ If you mean me by that, you are very much mistaken,” 
said she, testily. 

“ The Roundheads were your ancestors, and they knocked 
down my ancestor’s castle, and broke the stained glass and 
statuary of the cathedrals,” said De Stancy slily ; “ and now 
you go not only to a cathedral, but to a service of the unre- 
formed Church in it.” 

“ In a foreign country it is different from home,” said Paula 
in extenuation ; “ and you of all men should not reproach me 
for tergiversation — when it has been brought about by — by my 
sympathies with 

“ With the troubles of the De Stancys.” 

“Well, you know what I mean,” she answered, with con- 
siderable anxiety not to be misunderstood ; “ my liking for the 
old castle, and what it contains, and what it suggests. 1 
declare I will not explain to you further — why should I ? 1 

am not answerable to you ! ” 

Paula’s show of petulance was perhaps not wholly because 
she had appeared to seek him, but also from being reminded 
by his criticism that Mr. Woodwell’s prophecy on her weakly 
succumbing to surroundings was slowly working out its fulfill- 
ment. 

She moved forward towards the gate at the further end of 
the square, beyond which the cathedral lay at a very short 
distance. Paula did not turn her head, and De Stancy strolled 
slowly after her down the Rue du College. The day happened 
to be one of the church festivals, and people were a second 
time flocking into the lofty monument of Catholicism at its 

x 


A LAODICEAN. 


306 

meridian. Paula vanished into the porch with th? rest; and, 
almost catching the wicket as it flew back from her hand, he 
too entered the high-shouldered edifice — an edifice doomed to 
labour under the melancholy misfortune of seeming only half 
as vast as it really is, and whimsically described by Heine as 
a monument built with the strength of Titans, and decorated 
with the patience of dwarfs. 

De Stancy walked up the nave, so close beside her as to 
touch her dress ; but she would not recognise his presence, the 
darkness that evening had thrown over the interior, which was 
scarcely broken by the few candles dotted about, being a 
sufficient excuse if she required one. 

“ Miss Power,” De Stancy said at last, “ I am coming to the 
service with you.” 

She received the intelligence without surprise, and he knew 
she had been conscious of him all the way. 

Paula went no further than the middle of the nave, where 
there was hardly a soul, and took a chair beside a solitary 
rushlight which looked amid the vague gloom of the inacces- 
sible architecture like a lighthouse at the foot of tall cliffs. 

He put his hand on the next chair, saying, “ Do you object ? ” 

“ Not at all,” she replied ; and he sat down. 

“ Suppose we go into the choir,” said De Stancy presently. 
“ Nobody sits out here in the shadows.” 

“ This is sufficiently near, and we have a candle,” Paula 
murmured. 

Before another minute had passed the candle flame began 
to drown in its own grease, slowly dwindled, and went out. 

“ I suppose that means I am to go into the choir in spite of 
myself. Heaven is on your side,” said Paula. And rising 
they left their now totally dark corner, and joined the noise- 
less shadowy figures who in twos and threes kept passing up 
the nave. 

Within the choir there was a blaze of light, partly from the 
altar, and more particularly from the image of the saint whom 
they had assembled to honour, which stood, surrounded by 
candles and a thicket of flowering plants, some way in advance 
of the foot-pace. A secondary radiance from the same source 
was reflected upward into their faces by the polished marble 
pavement, except when interrupted by the shady forms of the 
officiating priests. 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


307 


When it was over and the people were moving off, De 
Stancy and his companion went towards the saint, now be- 
sieged by numbers of women anxious to claim the respective 
flower-pots they had lent for the decoration. As each struggled 
for her own, seized and marched off with it, Paula remarked 
— “This rather spoils the solemn effect of what has gone 
before.” 

“ I perceive you are a harsh Puritan.” 

“ No, Captain De Stancy ! Why will you speak so ? I am 
far too much otherwise. I have grown to be so much of your 
way of thinking, that I accuse myself, and am accused by 
others, of being worldly, and half-and-half, and other dreadful 
things — though it isn’t that at all.” 

They were now walking down the nave, preceded by the 
sombre figures with the pot-flowers, who were just visible in 
the rays that reached them through the distant choir-screen at 
their back ; while above the grey night sky and stars looked in 
upon them through the high clerestory windows. 

“ Do be a little more of my way of thinking ! ” rejoined De 
Stancy passionately. 

“ Don’t, don’t speak,” she said rapidly. “ There are Milly 
and Champreau ! ” 

Milly was one of the maids, and Champreau the courier and 
valet who had been engaged by Abner Power. They had been 
sitting behind the other pair throughout the service, and indeed 
knew rather more of the relations between Paula and De 
Stancy than Paula knew herself. 

Hastening on the two latter went out, and walked together 
silently up the short street. The Place St. Denis was now lit 
up, lights shone from the hotel windows, and the world without 
the cathedral had so far advanced in nocturnal change that 
it seemed as if they had been gone from it for hours. Within 
the hotel they found the change even greater than without. 
Mrs. Goodman met them half-way on the stairs. 

“ Poor Charlotte is worse,” she said. “ Quite feverish, and 
almost delirious.” 

Paula reproached herself with “ Why did I go away ! ” 

The common interest of De Stancy and Paula in the 
sufferer at once reproduced an ease between them as nothing 
else could have done. The physician was again called in, who 
prescribed certain draughts, and recommended that some one 


A LAODICEAN. 


308 

should sit up with her that night. If Paula allowed demon- 
strations of love to escape her towards anybody it was towards 
Charlotte, and her instinct was at once to watch by the invalid’s 
couch herself, at least for some hours, it being deemed un- 
necessary to call in a regular nurse unless she should sicken 
further. 

“ But I will sit with her,” said De Stancy. “ Surely you had 
better go to bed?” Paula would not be persuaded; and 
thereupon De Stancy, saying he was going into the town for a 
short time before retiring, left the room. 

The last omnibus returned from the last train, and the 
inmates of the hotel retired to rest. Meanwhile a telegram 
had arrived for Captain De Stancy ; but as he had not yet 
returned it was put in his bedroom, with directions to the 
night-porter to remind him of its arrival. 

Paula sat on with the sleeping Charlotte. Presently she 
retired into the adjacent sitting-room with a book, and flung 
herself on a couch, leaving the door open between her and 
her charge, in case the latter should awake. While she sat a 
new breathing seemed to mingle with the regular sound of 
Charlotte’s that reached her through the doorway : she turned 
quickly, and saw her uncle standing behind her. 

“ Oh — I thought you were in Paris ! ” said Paula. 

“ I have just come from there — I could not stay. Some- 
thing has occurred to my mind about this affair.” His strangely 
marked visage, now more noticeable from being worn with 
fatigue, had a spectral effect by the night-light 

“What affair ? ” 

“ This marriage. . . . Paula, De Stancy is a good fellow 
enough, but you must not accept him just yet.” 

Paula did not answer. 

“Do you hear? You must not accept him,” repeated hei 
uncle, “ till I have been to England and examined into matters. 
I start-in an hour’s time — by the ten-minutes-past-two train.” 

“ This is something very new.” 

“Yes — ’tis new,” he murmured, relapsing into his Dutch 
manner. “ You must not accept him till something is made 
clear to me — something about a queer relationship. I have 
come from Paris to say so.” 

“ Uncle, I don’t understand this. I am my own mistress in 
all matters, and though I don’t mind telling you I have by no 


DE STANCY AND PA ULA. 


309 

means resolved to accept him, the question of her marriage is 
especially a woman’s own affair.” 

Her uncle stood irresolute for a moment, as if his convictions 
were more than his proofs. “ I say no more at present,” he 
murmured. “ Can I do anything for you about a new archi- 
tect?” 

“ Appoint Havill.” 

“ Very well. Good night.” And then he left her. In a 
short time she heard him go down and out of the house to cross 
to England by the morning steamboat. 

With a little shrug, as if she resented his interference in so 
delicate a point, she settled herself down anew to her book. 

One, two, three hours passed, when Charlotte awoke, but 
soon slumbered sweetly again. Milly had stayed up for some 
time lest her mistress should require anything; but the girl 
being sleepy Paula sent her to bed. 

It was a lovely night of early summer, and drawing aside the 
window curtains she looked out upon the flowers and trees of 
the Place, now quite visible, for it was nearly three o’clock, 
and the morning light was growing strong. She turned her 
face upwards. Except in the case of one bedroom all the 
windows on that side of the hotel were in darkness. The room 
being rather close she left the casement ajar, and opening the 
door walked out upon the staircase landing. A number of 
caged canaries were kept here, and she observed in the dim 
light of the landing lamp how snugly their heads were all tucked 
in. On returning to the sitting-room again she could hear that 
Charlotte was still slumbering, and this encouraging circum- 
stance disposed her to go to bed herself. Before, however, she 
had made a move a gentle tap came to the door. 

Paula opened it There, in the faint light by the sleeping 
canaries, stood Charlotte’s brother. 

“ How is she now ? ” he whispered. 

“ Sleeping soundly,” said Paula. 

“ That’s a blessing. I have not been to bed. I came in 
late, and have now come down to know if I had not better 
take your place ? ” 

“Nobody is required,- I think. But you can judge for 
yourself.” 

Up to this point they had conversed in the doorway of the 
sitting-room, which De Stancy now entered, crossing it to 


3io 


A LAODICEAN. 


Charlotte’s apartment. He came out from the latter at a 
pensive pace. 

“She is doing well,” he said, gently. “You have been 
very good to her. Was the chair I saw by her bed the one 
you have been sitting in all night ? ” 

“ I sometimes sat there ; sometimes here.” 

“ I wish I could have sat beside you, and held your hand — I 
speak frankly.” 

“ To excess.” 

“And why not? I do not wish to hide from you any 
corner of my breast, futile as candour may be. J ust Heaven ! 
for what reason is it ordered that courtship, in which soldiers 
are usually so successful, should be a failure with me ? ” 

“ Your lack of foresight chiefly in indulging feelings that were 
not encouraged. That, and my uncle’s indiscreet permission 
to you to travel with us, have precipitated our relations in a way 
that I could neither foresee nor avoid, though of late I have had 
apprehensions that it might come to this. You vex and disturb 
me by such words of regret.” 

“ Not more than you vex and disturb me. But you cannot 
hate the man who loves you so devotedly ? ” 

“ I have said before I don’t hate you. I repeat that I am 
interested in your family and its associations because of its 
complete contrast with my own.” She might have added, 
“And I am additionally interested just now because my uncle 
has forbidden me to be.” 

“ But you don’t care enough for me personally to save my 
happiness.” 

Paula hesitated; from the moment De Stancy confronted 
her she had felt that this nocturnal conversation was to be a 
grave business. The cathedral clock struck three. “ I have 
thought once or twice,” she said with a nai'vetd unusual in her, 
“ that if I could be sure of giving peace and joy to your mind 
by becoming your wife, I ought to endeavour to do so and 
make the best of it — merely as a charity. But I believe that 
feeling is a mistake : your discontent is constitutional, and 
would go on just the same whether I accepted you or no. My 
refusal of j ou is purely an imaginary grievance.” 

“ Not if I think otherwise.” 

“Oh no,” she murmured, with a sense that the place was very lonely 
and silent. “ If you think it otherwise, I suppose it is otherwise.” 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


3n 

“ My darling ; my Paula ! ” he said, seizing her hand. “ Do 
promise me something. You must indeed ! ” 

“ Captain De Stancy ! ” she said, trembling and turning away. 
“ Captain De Stancy ! ” She tried to withdraw her fingers, then 
faced him, exclaiming in a firm voice a third time, “ Captain 
De Stancy ! let go my hand ; for I tell you I will not marry 
you ! ” 

“ Good God ! ” he cried, dropping her hand. “ What have 
I driven you to say in your anger ! Retract it — oh, retract 
it ! * 

“ Don’t urge me further as you value my good opinion ! ” 

“To lose you now, is to lose you for ever. Come, please 
answer ! ” 

I won’t be compelled ! ” she interrupted with vehemence. 
“ I am resolved not to be yours — not to give you an answer to- 
night ! Never, never will I be reasoned out of my intention; 
and I say I won’t answer you to-night ! I should never have 
let you be so much with me but for pity of you ; and now it is 
come to this ! ” 

She had sunk into a chair, and now leaned upon her hand, 
and buried her face in her handkerchief. He had never caused 
her any such agitation as this before. 

“ You stab me with your words,” continued De Stancy. 
“ The experience I have had with you is without parallel, Paula. 
It seems like a distracting dream.” 

" I won’t be hurried by anybody 1 ” 

“ That may mean anything,” he said, with a perplexed, 
passionate air. “ Well, mine is a fallen family, and we must 
abide caprices. Would to Heaven it were extinguished ! w 

“ What was extinguished ? ” she murmured. 

“ The De Stancys. Here am I, a homeless wanderer, living 
on my pay ; in the next room lies she, my sister, a poor little 
fragile feverish invalid with no social position — and hardly a 
friend. We two represent the De Stancy line ; and I wish we 
were behind the iron door of our old vault at Sleeping-Green. 
It can be seen by looking at us and our circumstances that we 
cry for the earth and oblivion ! ” 

“Captain De Stancy, it is not like that, I assure you,” 
sympathised Paula with damp eyelashes. “ I love Charlotte 
too dearly for you to talk like that, indeed. I don’t want to 
marry you exactly: and yet I cannot bring myself to say I 


312 


A LAODICEAN . 


permanently reject you, because I remember you are Charlotte’s 
brother, and do not wish to be the cause of any morbid feelings 
in you which would ruin your future prospects.” 

“ My dear life, what is it you doubt in me ? Your earnest- 
ness not to do me harm makes it all the harder for me to 
think of never being more than a friend.” 

“ Well, I have not positively refused ! ” she exclaimed, in 
mixed tones of pity and distress. “ Let me think it over a 
little while. It is not generous to urge so strongly before I can 
collect my thoughts, and at this midnight time ! ” 

“ Darling, forgive it 1 — There, I’ll say no more.” 

He then offered to sit up in her place for the remainder of 
the night ; but Paula declined, assuring him that she meant to 
stay only another half-hour, after which nobody would be 
necessary. 

He had already crossed the landing to ascend to his room, 
when she stepped after him, and asked if he had received his 
telegram. 

“ No,” said De Stancy. “ Nor have I heard of one.” 

Paula explained that it was put in his room, that he might 
see it the moment he came in. 

“ It matters very little,” he replied, “ since I shall see it 
now. Good-night, dearest ; good-night ! ” he added, tenderly. 

She gravely shook her head. “ It is not for you to express 
yourself like that,” she answered. “ Good night, Captain De 
Stancy.” 

He went up the stairs to the second floor, and Paula 
returned to the sitting-room. Having left a light burning De 
Stancy proceeded to look for the telegram, and found it on the 
carpet, where it had been swept from the table. When he had 
opened the sheet a sudden solemnity overspread his face. He 
sat down, rested his elbow on the table, and his forehead on his 
hands. 

Captain De Stancy did not remain thus long. Rising he 
went softly downstairs. The grey morning had by this time 
crept into the hotel, rendering a light no longer necessary. The 
old clock on the landing was within a few minutes of four, and 
the birds were hopping up and down their cages, and whetting 
their bills. He tapped at the sitting room, and she came 
instantly. 

“ But I told you it was not necessary ” she began. 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


313 


“ Yes, but the telegram,” he said hurriedly. I wanted to let 
you know first that — it is very serious. Paula — my father is 
dead ! He died suddenly yesterday, and I must go at once. 
. . . About Charlotte — and how to let her know ” 

“ She must not be told yet,” said Paula. . . . “ Sir William 
dead ! ” 

“You think we had better not tell her just yet?” said De 
Stancy, anxiously. “ That’s what I want to consult you about, 
if you — don’t mind my intruding.” 

“ Certainly I don’t,” she said. 

They continued the discussion for some time; and it was 
decided that Charlotte should not be informed of what had 
happened till the doctor had been consulted, Paula promising 
to account for her brother’s departure. 

De Stancy then prepared to leave for England by the first 
morning train, and roused the night-porter, which functionary, 
having packed off Abner Power, was discovered asleep on the 
sofa of the landlord’s parlour. At half-past five Paula, who in 
the interim had been pensively sitting with her hand to her 
chin, quite forgetting that she had meant to go to bed, heard 
wheels without, and looked from the window. A fly had 
been brought round, and one of the hotel servants was in the 
act of putting up a portmanteau with De Stancy’s initials upon 
it. A minute afterwards the captain came to her door. 

“ I thought you had not gone to bed, after all.” 

“ I was anxious to see you off,” said she, “ since neither of 
the others is awake; and you wished me not to rouse them.” 

“ Quite right, you are very good ; ” and lowering his voice : 
“ Paula, it is a sad and solemn time with me. — Will you grant 
me one word — not on our last sad subject, but on the previous 
one — before I part with you to go and bury my father ? ” 

“ Certainly,” she said, in gentle accents. 

“ Then have you thought over my position ? Will you at 
last have pity upon my loneliness by becoming my wife ? ” 

Paula sighed deeply; and said, “Yes.” 

“ Your hand upon it.” 

She gave him her hand : he held it a few moments, then 
raised it to his lips, and was gone. 

When Mrs. Goodman rose she was informed of Sir William’s 
death, and of his son’s departure. 

“Then the captain is now Sir William De Stancy!” she 


3*4 


A LAOBICEAJV. 


exclaimed. " Really, Paula, since you would be Lady De 

Stancy by marrying him, I almost think ” 

“ Hush, aunt!” 

“ Well ; what are you writing there ? ” 

“Only entering in my diary that I accepted him this 
morning, in spite of Uncle Abner.” 


CHAPTER XL 

On the evening of the fourth day after the parting between 
Paula and De Stancy at Amiens, when it was quite dark in 
the Markton highway, except in so far as the shades were 
broken by the faint lights from the adjacent town, a young man 
knocked softly at the door of Myrtle Villa, and asked if Captain 
De Stancy had arrived from abroad. He was answered in the 
affirmative, and in a few moments the captain himself came 
from an adjoining room. 

Seeing that his visitor was Dare, from whom, as will be 
remembered, he had parted at Carlsruhe in no very satisfied 
mood, De Stancy did not ask him into the house, but putting 
on his hat went out with the youth into the public road. Here 
they conversed as they walked up and down, Dare begin- 
ning by alluding to the death of Sir William, the suddenness of 
which he feared would delay Captain De Stancy’s overtures for 
the hand of Miss Power. 

“ No,” said De Stancy, moodily. “On the contrary, it has 
precipitated matters.” 

“ She has accepted you, captain ? ” 

“ We are engaged to be married.” 

" Well done ! I congratulate you.” The speaker was about 
to proceed to further triumphant notes on the intelligence, 
when, casting his eye upon the upper windows of the neigh- 
bouring villa, he appeared to reflect on what was within them, 
and checking himself, “ When is the funeral to be ? ” 

“To-morrow,” De Stancy replied. “ It would be advisable 
for you not to come near me during the day.” 


DE STANCY AND PA ULA . 


3i5 

“ I will not. I will be a mere spectator. The old vault of 
our ancestors will be opened, I presume, captain ? ” 

“ It is opened.” 

“ I must see it — and ruminate on what we once were : it is 

a thing I like doing. The ghosts of our dead Ah, what 

was that ? ” 

“ I heard nothing.” 

“ I thought I heard a footstep behind us.” 

They stood still ; but the road appeared to be quite deserted, 
and likely to continue so for the remainder of that evening. 
They walked on again, speaking in somewhat lower tones than 
before. 

“ Will the late Sir William’s death delay the wedding much ? ” 
asked the younger man curiously. 

De Stancy languidly answered that he did not see why it 
should do so. Some little time would of course intervene, but, 
since there were several reasons for despatch, he should urge 
Miss Power and her relatives to consent to a virtually private 
wedding which might take place at a very early date ; and he 
thought there would be a general consent on that point. 

“ There are indeed reasons for despatch. Your title, Sir 
William, is a new safeguard over her heart, certainly ; but there 
is many a slip, and you must not lose her now.” 

“ I don’t mean to lose her ! ” said De Stancy. “ She is too 
good to be lost. And yet — since she gave her promise I have 
felt more than once that I would not engage in such a struggle 
again. It was not a thing of iny beginning, though I was 
easily enough inflamed to follow. But I will not lose her 
now. — For God’s sake, keep that secret you have so foolishly 
pricked on your breast. It fills me with remorse to think 
what she with her scrupulous notions will feel, should she ever 
know of you and your history, and your relation to me ! ” 

Dare made no reply till after a silence, when he said, “ Of 
course mum’s the word till the wedding is over.” 

“ And afterwards — promise that for her sake ? ” 

“ And probably afterwards.” 

Sir William De Stancy drew a dejected breath at the tone of 
the answer. They con.ersetf but a little while longer, the 
captain hinting to Dare that it was time for them to part ; not, 
however, before he had uttered a hope that the young man 
would turn over a new leaf and engagein some regular pursuit, 

Vol 7 (K) 


3*6 


A LAODICEAN. 


Promising to call upon him at his lodgings De Stancy went 
indoors, and Dare briskly retraced his steps to Markton. 

When his footfall had died away, and the door of the house 
opposite had been closed, another man appeared upon the 
scene. He came gently out of the hedge opposite Myrtle 
Villa, which he paused to regard for a moment. But instead 
of going townward, he turned his back upon the distant 
sprinkle of lights, and did not check his walk till he reached 
the lodge of Stancy Castle. 

Here he pulled the wooden acorn beside the arch, and 
when the porter appeared his light revealed the pedestrian’s 
countenance to be scathed, as by lightning. 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Power,” said the porter with 
sudden deference as he opened the wicket. “ But we wasn’t 
expecting anybody to-night, as there is nobody at home, and 
the servants on board-wages ; and that’s why I was so long 
a-coming.” 

“No matter, no matter,” said Abner Power. “ I have 
returned on sudden business, and have not come to stay 
longer than to-night. Your mistress is not with me. I meant 
to sleep in Markton, but have changed my mind.” 

Mr. Power had brought no luggage with him beyond a 
small hand-bag, and as soon as a room could be got ready he 
retired to bed. 

The next morning he passed in idly walking about the 
grounds and observing the progress which had been made in 
the works — now temporarily suspended. But that inspection 
was less his object in remaining there than meditation, was 
abundantly evident. When the bell began to toll from the 
neighbouring church to announce the burial of Sir William De 
Stancy, he passed through the castle, and went on foot in the 
direction indicated by the sound. Reaching the margin of 
the churchyard he looked over the wall, his presence being 
masked by bushes and a group of idlers from Markton who 
stood in front. Soon a funeral procession of simple — almost 
meagre and threadbare — character arrived, but Power did not 
join the people who followed the deceased into the church. 
De Stancy was the chief mourner and only relative present, 
the other followers of the broken-down old man being an 
ancient lawyer, a couple of faithful servants, and a bowed 
villager who had been page to the late Sir William’s father — 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


317 


the single living person left in the parish who remembered the 
De Stancys as people of wealth and influence, and who firmly 
believed that family would come into its rights ere long, and 
oust the uncircumcised Philistines who had taken possession of 
the old lands. 

The funeral was over, and the rusty carriages had gone, 
together with many of the spectators ; but Power lingered in 
the churchyard as if he were looking for some one. At length 
he entered the church, passing by the cavernous pitfall with 
descending steps which stood open outside the wall of the De 
Stancy aisle. Arrived within he scanned the few idlers oi 
antiquarian tastes who had remained after the service to inspect 
the monuments ; and beside a recumbent effigy — the effigy in 
alabaster whose features Paula had wiped with her hand- 
kerchief when there with Somerset — he beheld the man it had 
been his business to find. Abner Power went up and touched 
this person, who was Dare, on the shoulder. 

“Mr. Power — so it is !” said the youth. “ I have not seen 
you since we met in Carlsruhe.” 

“ You shall see all the more of me now to make up for it. 
Shall we walk round the church ? ” 

“With all, my heart,” said Dare. 

They walked round ; and Abner Power began in a sardonic 
recitative : “I am a traveller, and it takes a good deal to 
astonish me. So I neither swooned nor screamed when I 
learnt a few hours ago what I had suspected for a week, that 
you are of the house and lineage of Jacob.” He flung a nod 
towards the canopied tombs as he spoke. — “ In other words, 
that you are of the same breed as the De Stancys.” 

Dare cursorily glanced round. Nobody was near enough 
to hear their words, the nearest persons being two workmen 
just outside, who were bringing their tools up from the vault 
preparatively to closing it. 

Having observed this Dare replied, “ I, too, am a traveller ; 
and neither do I swoon nor scream at what you say. But I 
assure you that if you busy yourself about me, you may truly 
be said to busy yourself about nothing.” 

“ Well, that’s a matter of opinion. Now, there’s no scarlet 
left in-my face to blush for men’s follies ; but as an alliance is 
afoot between my niece and the present Sir William, this must 
be looked into.” 


3*8 


A LAODICEAN. 


Dare reflectively said “ Oh,” as he observed through the 
window one of the workmen bring up a candle from the vault 
and extinguish it with his fingers. 

“The marriage is desirable, and your relationship in itself is 
of no consequence,” continued the elder ; “ but just look at 
this. You have forced on the marriage by unscrupulous means, 
your object being only too clearly to live out of the proceeds of 
that marriage.” 

“ Mr. Power, you mock me, because I labour under the 
misfortune of having an illegitimate father to provide for. I 
really deserve commiseration.” 

“ You might deserve it if that were all. But it looks bad for 
my niece’s happiness as Lady De Stancy, that she and her 
husband are to be perpetually haunted by a young chevalier 
cLindustrie, who can forge a telegram on occasion, and libel an 
innocent man by an ingenious device in photography. It looks 
so bad, in short, that, advantageous as a title and old family 
name would be to her and her children, I won’t let my brother’s 
daughter run the risk of having them at the expense of being 
in the grip of a man like you. There are other suitors in the 
world, and other titles : and she is a beautiful woman, who can 
well afford to be fastidious. I shall let her know at once of 
these things, and break off the business — unless you do one 
thing 

A workman brought up another candle from the vault, and 
prepared to let down the slab. “ Well, Mr. Power, and what 
is that one thing ? ” 

“ Go to Peru as my agent in a business I have just under- 
taken there.” 

“ And settle there ? ” 

“ Of course. I am soon going over myself, and will bring 
you anything you require.” 

“ How long will you give me to consider ? ” said Dare. 

Power looked at his watch. “ One, two, three, four hours,” 
he said. “ I leave Markton by the seven o’clock train this 
evening.” 

“ And if I meet your proposal with a negative ? ” 

“ I shall go at once to my niece and tell her the whole 
circumstances — tell her that, by marrying Sir William, she 
allies herself with an unhappy gentleman in the power of a 
criminal son who makes his life a burden to him by perpetual 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


319 


demands upon his purse ; who will increase those demands 
with his accession to wealth, threaten to degrade her by 
exposing her husband’s antecedents if she opposes his extortions, 
and who will make her miserable by letting her know that her 
old lover was shamefully victimised by a youth she is bound to 
screen out of respect to her husband’s feelings. Now a man 
does not care to let his own flesh and blood incur the danger 
of such anguish as that, and I shall do what I say to prevent it 
Knowing what a lukewarm sentiment hers is for Sir William at 
best, I shall not have much difficulty.” 

“ Well, I don’t feel inclined to go to Peru.” 

“ Neither do I want to break off the match, though I am 
ready to do it. But you care about your personal freedom, 
and you might be made to wear the broad arrow for your tricks 
on Somerset.” 

“ Mr. Power, I see you are a hard man.” 

“ I am a hard man. You will find me one. Well, will you 
go to Peru ? Or I don’t mind Australia or California as 
alternatives. As long as you choose to remain in either of 
those wealth-producing places, so long will Cunningham Haze 
go uninformed.” 

“Mr. Power, I am overcome. Will you allow me to sit 
down ? Suppose we go into the vestry. It is more comfort* 
able.” 

They entered the vestry, and seated themselves in two chairs, 
one at each end of the table. 

“ In the mean time,” continued Dare, “ to lend a little 
romance to stern realities, I’ll tell you a singular dream I had 
just before you returned to England.” Power looked con- 
temptuous, but Dare went on : “I dreamt that once upon a 
time there were two brothers, born of ?. Nonconformist family, 
one of whom became a railway-contractor, and the other a 
mechanical engineer.” 

“ A mechanical engineer — good,” said Power, beginning to 

attend. 

“ When the first went abroad in his profession, and became 
engaged on continental railways, the second, a younger man, 
looking round for a start, also betook himself to the con- 
tinent. But though ingenious and scientific, he had not the 
business capacity of the elder, whose rebukes led to a sharp 
quarrel between them ; and they parted in bitter estrangement 


320 


A LAODICEAN. 


— never to meet again as it turned out, owing to the dogged 
obstinacy and self-will of the younger man. He, after this, 
seemed to lose his moral ballast altogether, and after some 
eccentric doings he was reduced to a state of poverty, and took 
lodgings in a court in a back street of a town we will call 
Geneva, considerably in doubt as to what steps he should take 
to keep body and soul together. 

Abner Power was shooting a narrow ray of eyesight at 
Dare from the corner of his nearly closed lids. “Your dream 
is so interesting,” he said, with a hard smile, “ that I could 
listen to it all day.” 

“Excellent!” said Dare, and went on: “Now it so 
happened that the house opposite to the one taken by the 
mechanician was peculiar. It was a tall narrow building, 
wholly unomamented, the walls covered with a layer of white 
plaster cracked and soiled by time. I seem to see that house 
now ! Six stone steps led up to the door, with a rusty iron 
railing on each side, and under these steps were others which 
went down to a cellar — in my dream of course.” 

“ Of course — in your dream,” said Power, nodding compre- 
hensively. 

“ Sitting lonely and apathetic without a light, at his own 
chamber-window at night time, our mechanician frequently 
observed dark figures descending these steps, and ultimately 
discovered that the house was the meeting-place of a fraternity 
of political philosophers, whose object was the extermination 
of tyrants and despots, and the overthrow of' established 
religions. The discovery was startling enough, but our hero 
was not easily startled. He kept their secret and lived on as 
before. At last the mechanician and his affairs became known 
to the society, as the affairs of the society had become known 
to the mechanician, and, instead of shooting him as one who 
knew too much for their safety, they were struck with his 
faculty for silence, and thought they might be able to make 
use of him.” 

“ To be sure,” said Abner Power. 

“ Next, like friend Bunyan, I saw in my dream that denun 
ciation was the breath of life to this society. At an earliei 
date in its history, objectionable persons in power had been 
from time to time murdered, and curiously enough numbered ; 
that is, upon the body of each was set a mark or seal, 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


321 


announcing that he was one of a series. But at this time the 
question before the society related to the substitution for the 
dagger, which was vetoed as obsolete, of some explosive 
machine that would be both more effectual and less difficult to 
manage ; and in short, a large reward was offered to our needy 
Englishman if he would put their ideas of such a machine into 
shape.” 

Abner Power nodded again, his complexion being peculiar — 
which might partly have been accounted for by the reflection of 
window-light from the green-baize table-cloth. 

“ He agreed, though no politician whatever himself, to exercise 
his wits on their account, and brought his machine to such a 
pitch of perfection, that it was the identical one used in the 
memorable attempt — ” ( Dare whispered the remainder of the 
sentence in tones so low that not a mouse in the corner could have 
heard.) “Well, the inventor of that explosive has naturally 
been wanted ever since by all the heads of police in Europe. But 
the most curious — or perhaps the most natural — part of my story 
is, that our hero, after the catastrophe, grew disgusted with himself 
and his comrades, acquired, in a fit of revulsion, quite a conser- 
vative taste in politi 'S, which was strengthened greatly by the 
news he indirectly received of the great wealth and respect- 
ability of his brother, who had had no communion with him for 
years, and supposed him dead. He abjured his employers and 
resolved to. abandon them: but before coming to England he 
decided to destroy all trace of his combustible inventions by 
dropping them into the neighbouring lake at night from a boat. 
You feel the room close, Mr. Power ? ” 

“ No, I suffer from attacks of perspiration whenever I sit in a 
consecrated edifice — that’s all. Pray go on.” 

“ In carrying out this project, an explosion occurred, just as he 
was throwing the stock overboard : it blew up into his face, 
wounding him severely, and nearly depriving him of sight. The 
boat was upset, but he swam ashore in the darkness, and remained 
hidden till he recovered, though the scars produced by the bums 
had been set on him for ever. This accident, which was such 
a misfortune to him as a man, was an advantage to him as a 
conspirators’ engineer retiring from practice, and afforded him 
a disguise both from his own brotherhood and from the police, 
which he has considered impenetrable, but which is getting seen 
through by one or two keen eyes as time goes on. Instead of 


322 


A LAODICEAN. 


coming to England just then, he went to Peru, connected 
himself with the guano trade, I believe, and after his brother’s 
death revisited England, his old life obliterated as far as practi- 
cable by his new principles. He is known only as a great travel- 
ler to his surviving relatives, though he seldom says where he 
has travelled. Unluckily for himself, he is wanted by certain 
European governments as badly as ever.” 

Dare raised his eyes as he concluded his narration. As has 
been remarked, he was sitting at one end of the vestry-table, 
Power at the other, the green cloth stretching between them. 
On the edge of the table adjoining Mr. Power a shining nozzle 
of metal was quietly resting, like a dog’s nose. It was directed 
point-blank at the young man. 

Dare started. “ Ah — a revolver ? ” he said. 

Mr. Power nodded placidly, his hand still grasping the pistol 
behind the edge of the table. “As a traveller I always carry 
one of ’em,” he returned ; “ and for the last five minutes I have 
been closely considering whether your numerous brains are worth 
blowing out or no. The vault yonder has suggested itself as con- 
venient and snug for one of the same family ; but the mental 
problem that stays my hand is, how am I to despatch and bury 
you there without the workmen seeing.” 

“ ’Tis a strange problem, certainly,” replied Dare, “and one 
on which I fear I could not give disinterested advice. Moreover, 
while you, as a traveller, always carry a weapon of defence, as 
a traveller so do I. And for the last three-quarters of an hour 
I have been thinking concerning you, an intensfied form of 
what you have been thinking of me, but without any concern as 
to your interment. See here for a proof of it.” And a second 
steel nose rested on the edge of the table opposite to the first, 
steadied by Dare’s right hand. 

They remained for some time motionless, the tick of the tower 
clock distinctly audible in the silence of this dead-lock. 

Mr. Power spoke first 

“ A well-balanced position,” he said. “ Well, ’twould t>e a 
pity to make a mess here under such dubious circumstances. 
Mr. Dare, I perceive that a mean vagabond can be as sharp 
as a political regenerator. I cry quits, if you care to do the 
same ? ” 

Dare assented, and the pistols were put away. 

“Then we do nothing at all, either side; but let the course 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


323 


of true love run on to marriage — that’s the understanding, I 
think ? ” said Dare as he rose. 

“ It is,” said Power; and turning on his heel, he left the 
vestry. 

Dare retired to the church and thence to the outside, where 
he idled away a few minutes in looking at the workmen, who 
were now lowering into its place a large stone slab bearing the 
words, “ De Stancy,” which covered the entrance to the vault. 
When the footway of the churchyard was restored to its normal 
condition Dare pursued his way to Markton. 

Abner Power walked back to the castle at a slow and equal 
pace, as though he carried an over-brimming vessel on his head. 
He silently let himself in, entered the long gallery, and sat 
down. The length of time that he sat there was so remarkable 
as to raise that interval of inanition to the rank of a feat. 

Power’s eyes glanced through one of the window-casements : 
from a hole without he saw the head of a tomtit protruding. 
He listlessly watched the bird during the successive epochs of 
his thought, till night came, without any perceptible change 
occurring in him. Such fixity would have meant nothing else 
than sudden death in any other man, but in Mr. Power 
it merely signified that he was engaged in ruminations 
which necessitated a more extensive survey than usual. At 
last, at half-past eight, after having sat for five hours with his 
eyes on the residence of the tom-tits, to whom night had 
brought cessation of thought, if not to him who had observed 
them, he rose amid the shades of the furniture, and rang the 
bell. There was only a servant or two in the castle, one of 
whom presently came with a light in her hand and a startled 
look upon her face, which was not reduced when she recog- 
nised him ; for in the opinion of that household there was some- 
thing ghoul-like in Mr. Power, which made him no desirable 
guest. 

He ate a late meal, and retired to bed, where he seemed to 
sleep not unsoundly. The next morning he received a letter 
which afforded him infinite satisfaction and gave his stagnant 
impulses a new momentum. He entered the library, and amid 
objects swathed in brown holland sat down and wrote a note to 
his niece at Amiens. Therein he stated that, finding that the 
Anglo-South- American house with which he had recently con- 
nected himself required his presence in Peru, it obliged him to 


324 


A LAODICEAN, 


leave without waiting for her return. He felt the less uneasy 
at going, since he had learnt that Captain De Stancy 
would return at once to Amiens to his sick sister, and see them 
safely home when she improved. He afterwards left the castle, 
disappearing towards a railway station some miles ab.ove 
Markton, the road to which lay across an unfrequented down. 


CHAPTER XII. 

It was a fine afternoon of late summer, nearly three months 
subsequent to the death of Sir William De Stancy and Paula’s 
engagement to marry his successor in the title. George 
Somerset had started on a railway journey that took Kim through 
the wooded district which lay around Stancy Castle. Having 
resigned his appointment as architect to that important 
structure — a resignation which had been accepted by Paula 
through her solicitor — he had bidden farewell to the locality 
after putting matters in such order that his successor, whoever 
he might be, should have no difficulty in obtaining the 
particulars necessary to the completion of the work in hand. 
Hardly to his surprise this successor was Havill. Somerset had 
less reluctance than before in abandonding the undertaking to 
Havill’s untrained judgment from the circumstance that the 
design was matured, even to the working drawings, and the 
walls too far advanced for any material alteration; so that 
mere constructional superintendence was all that he had 
deputed — a branch of the profession in which Havill was a 
proficient. 

Somerset’s resignation had been tendered in no hasty mood. 
On returning to England, and in due course to the castle, every- 
thing bore in upon his mind the exceeding sorrowfulness — he 
would not say humiliation -of continuing to act in his former 
capacity for a woman who, from seeming more than a dear 
friend, had become less than an acquaintance. Though 
bitterly reproaching her at every moment, he was unable to 
contemn her, and could not criticise her ; indeed Somerset was 
still in too regretful a state to see anything in Paula but the 


DE STANCY AND PA ULA. 


325 


unattainable one who had chosen to renounce him. He blamed 
himself, not her, for having been made the fool of his wishes ; 
and despite his resolve, half hankered for the opportunity of 
being near her that the office of her architect would still afford, 
whether or not she should have become the wife of another 
man. But, after the diseased sentiment of moods like this, a 
reasonable defiance stirred in his breast, and he saw how in- 
tolerable it would be to come in contact with her under such 
altered circumstances, the ghosts of sweet remembrances for 
ever arising before him in maddening contrast with her altered 
eyes. 

So he resigned ; but now, as the train drew on into that once 
beloved tract of country, the images which ipet his eye threw 
him back in point of emotion to very near where he had been 
before making himself a stranger here. The train entered the 
cutting on whose brink he had walked when the carriage con- 
taining Paula and her friends surprised him the previous 
summer. He looked out of the window : they were passing 
the well-known curve that led up to the tunnel constructed by 
her father, into which he had gone when the train came by and 
Paula had been alarmed for his life. There was the path they 
had both climbed afterwards, involuntarily seizing each other’s 
hand ; the bushes, the grass, the flowers, everything just the 

same : « Here was the pleasant place, 

And nothing wanting was, save She, alas ! * 

When they came out of the tunnel at the other end he 
caught a glimpse of the distant castle-keep, and the well- 
remembered walls beneath it The experience so far tran- 
scended the intensity of what is called mournful pleasure as to 
make him wonder how he could have miscalculated himself to 
the extent of supposing that he might return hither with con- 
trollable emotion. 

On entering Markton station he withdrew into a remote 
comer of the carriage, and closed his eyes with a resolve not 
to open them till the embittering scenes should be passed by. 
He had not long to wait for this event. When again in 
motion his eye fell upon the skirt of a lady’s dress opposite, the 
owner of which had entered and seated herself so softly as not 
to attract his attention. 

“Ah indeed 1” he exclaimed as he looked up to her face. 


A LAODICEAN, 


326 

“ I had not a notion that it was you l ” He went over and 
shook hands with Charlotte De Stancy. 

“ I am not going far,” she said ; “ only to the next station. 
We often run down in summer time. Are you going far ? ” 

“ I am going to Normandy by way of Cherbourg, to finish 
out my summer holiday.” 

Miss De Stancy thought that would be very nice. 

“ Well, I hope so. But I fear it won’t.” 

After saying that Somerset fell into consideration, asking 
himself why he should mince matters with so genuine and 
sympathetic a girl as Charlotte De Stancy ? She could tell him 
particulars which, notwithstanding the anguish they would 
cause him, he burned to know. Moreover, he might never 
again have an opportunity of knowing them, since she and he 
would probably not meet for years to come, if at all. 

“ Have the castle works progressed pretty rapidly under the 
new architect ? ” he accordingly asked. 

“Yes,” said Charlotte in her haste — then adding that she 
was not quite sure if they had progressed so rapidly as before ; 
blushingly correcting herself at this point and that in the tinker- 
ing manner of a nervous organisation aiming at nicety where it 
was not required. 

“ Well, I should have liked to carry out the undertaking to its 
end,” said Somerset. “ But I felt I could not consistently do 
so. Miss Power — ” (here a lump came into Somerset’s throat 
— so responsive was he yet to her image) “ seemed to have lost 
confidence in me, and — it was best that the connection should 
be severed.” 

There was a long pause. “ She was very sorry about it,” 
said Charlotte, gently. 

“ What made her alter so ? — I never can think ! ” 

Before replying Charlotte waited again as if to accumulate 
the necessary force for honest speaking at the expense of 
pleasantness. “ It was the telegram that began it of course,” 
she answered. 

“ Telegram?” 

She looked up at him in quite a frightened way — little as 
there was to be frightened at in a quiet fellow like him in this 
sad time of his life — and said, “ Yes : some telegram — I think 
— when you were in trouble ? Forgive my alluding to it; but 
you asked me the question.” 


BE STANCY AND PAULA . 


327 


Somerset began reflecting on what messages he had sent 
Paula, troublous or otherwise. All he had sent had been sent 
from the castle, and were as gentle and mellifluous as sentences 
well could be which had neither articles nor pronouns. “ I 
don’t understand,” he said. “ Will you explain a little more 
— as plainly as you like — without minding my feelings ? ” 

“A telegram from Nice, I think?” 

“ I never sent one.” 

“ Oh ! The one I meant was about money.” 

Somerset shook his head. “ No,” he murmured, with the 
composure of a man who, knowing he had done nothing of the 
sort himself, was blinded by his own honesty to the possibility 
that another might have done it for him. “ That must be some 
other affair with which I had nothing to do. Oh no, it was 
nothing like that ; the reason for her change of manner was 
quite different ! ” 

So timid was Charlotte in Somerset’s presence, that her 
timidity at this juncture amounted to blameworthiness. The 
distressing scene w'hich must have followed a clearing up there 
and then of any possible misunderstanding, terrified her ima- 
gination; and quite confounded by contradictions that she 
could not reconcile, she held her tongue, and nervously looked 
out of the window. 

“ I have heard that Miss Power is soon to be married,” con- 
tinued Somerset with a boldness that astonished himself. 

“ Yes,” Charlotte murmured. “ It is sooner than it ought 
to be by rights, considering how recently my dear father died ; 
but there are reasons in connection with my brother’s position 
against putting it off : and it is to be absolutely simple and 
private.” 

There was another interval. “ May I ask when it is to be?” 
he said. 

“ Almost at once — this week.” 

Somerset started back as if some stone had hit his face. 

Certain as he had been that a marriage between Paula and 
De Stancy was impending, he had not anticipated such promp- 
titude as this. Still there was nothing wonderful in it : engage- 
ments broken in upon by the death of a near relative of one of 
the parties had been often carried out in a subdued form with 
no longer delay. - 

But he could not easily say much more, and Charlotte’s 


A LAODICEAN. 


328 

station was now at hand. She bade him farewell on the plat* 
form ; and he resumed his seat and rattled on to Budmouth, 
whence he intended to cross the Channel by steamboat that 
night. 

He hardly knew how the evening passed away. He had 
taken up his quarters at an old-fashioned inn on the quay, and 
as the night drew on he stood gazing from the coffee-room 
window at the steamer outside, which nearly thrust its spars 
through the bedroom casements, and at the goods that 
were being tumbled on board as only shippers can tumble 
them. All the goods were laden, a lamp was put on each side 
the gangway, the engines broke into a crackling roar, and 
people began to enter. They were only waiting for the last 
train ; then they would be off. Still Somerset did not move : 
he was thinking of that curious half-told story of Charlotte’s, 
about a telegram to Paula for money from Nice. Not once 
till within the last half-hour had it recurred to his mind that he 
had met Dare both at Nice and at Monte Carlo ; that at the 
latter place he had been absolutely out of money and wished to 
borrow, showing considerable sinister feeling when Somerset 
declined to lend : that on one or two previous occasions he had 
leasons for doubting Dare’s probity ; and that in spite of the 
young man’s impoverishment at Monte Carlo he had, a few 
days later, beheld him in shining raiment at Carlsruhe. 
Somerset, though misty in his conjectures, was seized with a 
growing conviction that there was something in Miss De 
Stancy’s allusion to the telegram' which ought to be explained. 

Without considering how he personally would be able to 
explain it, he felt an insurmountable objection to cross the 
water that night, or till he had been able to see Charlotte 
again, and learn more of her meaning. He countermanded the 
order to put his luggage on board, watched the steamer out of 
the harbour, and went to bed. He might as well have gone 
to battle, for any rest that he got On rising the next 
morning and noting how extremely vague was the course to 
which he had committed himself he felt rather blank, though 
none the less convinced that a matter required investigation. 
He left Budmouth by a morning train, and about eleven 
o’clock found himself in Markton. 

The momentum of a practical inquiry took him through that 
ancient borough without leaving him much leisure for those 


DE STANCY A AD PAULA. 


329 


reveries which had yesterday lent an unutterable sadness to 
every object there. It was just before noon that he started for 
the castle, intending to arrive at a time of the morning when, 
as he knew from experience, he could speak to Charlotte 
without difficulty. The rising ground soon revealed the old 
towers to him, and, jutting out behind them, the scaffoldings 
for the new wing. 

While halting here on the knoll in some doubt about his 
movements he beheld a man coming along the road, and was 
soon confronted by his former competitor, Havill. The first in- 
stinct of each was to pass with a nod, but a second instinct for 
intercourse was sufficient to bring them to a halt. After a few 
superficial words had been spoken Somerset said, “ You have 
succeeded me.” 

“I have,” said Havill; “but little to my advantage. I 
have just heard that my commission is to extend no further 
than roofing in the wing that you began, and had I known 
that before, I would have seen the castle fall flat as Jericho 
before I would have accepted the superintendence. But I 
know who I have to thank for that — De Stancy.” 

Somerset still looked towards the distant battlements. On 
the scaffolding, among the white jacketed workmen, he could 
discern one figure in a dark suit. 

“ You have a clerk of the works, I see,” he observed. 

“ Nominally I have, but practically I haven’t.” 

“ Then why do you keep him ?” 

“ I can’t help myself. He is Mr. Dare ; and having been 
recommended by a higher power than I, there he must stay 
in spite of me.” 

“ Who recommended him ? ” 

“ The same — De Stancy ” 

“ It is very odd,” murmured Somerset, “ but that young man 
is the object of my visit.” 

“ You had better leave him alone,” said Havill drily. 

Somerset asked why. 

“ Since I call no man master over that way I will inform 
you.” Havill then related in splenetic tones, to which 
Somerset did not care to listen till the story began to advance 
itself, how he had passed the night with Dare at the inn, and 
the incidents of that night, relating how he had seen some 
letters on the young man’s breast which long had puzzled him. 


330 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ They were an E, a T, an N, and a C. I thought over them 
long, till it eventually occurred to me that the word when 
filled out was ‘ De Stancy,’ and that kinship explains the 
offensive and defensive alliance between them.” 

“ But, good heavens, man ! ” said Somerset, more and more 
disturbed. “ Does she know of it ? ” 

“ You may depend she does not yet ; but she will soon 
enough. Hark — there it is ! ” The notes of the castle clock 
were heard striking noon. “ Then it is all over.” 

“ What ? — not their marriage ! ” 

“Yes. Didn’t you know it was the wedding day? They 
were to be at the church at half-past eleven. I should have 
waited to see her go, but it was no sight to hinder business 
for, as she was only going to drive over in her brougham with 
Miss De Stancy.” 

“ My errand has failed ! ” said Somerset, turning on his heel. 
“ I’ll walk back to the town with you.” 

However he did not walk far with Havill ; society was too 
much at that moment. As soon as opportunity offered he 
branched from the road by a path, and avoiding the town 
went by railway to Budmouth, whence he resumed, by the 
night steamer, his journey to Normandy. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

To return to Charlotte De Stancy. When the train had 
borne Somerset from her side, and she had regained her self- 
possession, she became conscious of the true proportions of the 
fact he had asserted. And, further, if the telegram had not 
been his, why should the photographic distortion be trusted as 
a phase of his existence? But after a while it seemed so 
improbable to her that God’s sun should bear false witness, 
that instead of doubting both evidences she was inclined to 
readmit the first. Still, upon the whole, she could not 
question for long the honesty of Somerset’s denial; and if 
that message had indeed been sent by him, it must have been 
done while he was in another such an unhappy state as that 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


33i 


exemplified by the portrait. The supposition reconciled all 
differences; and yet she could not but fight against it with all 
the strength of a generous affection. 

All the afternoon her poor little head was busy on this 
perturbing question, till she inquired of herself whether after all 
it might not be possible for photographs to represent people as 
they had never been. Before rejecting the hypothesis she 
determined to have the word of a professor on the point, which 
would be better than all her surmises. Returning to Markton 
early, she told the coachman whom Paula had sent, to drive 
her to the shop of Mr. Ray, an obscure photographic artist in 
that town, instead of straight home. 

Ray’s establishment consisted of two divisions, the respect' 
able and the shabby. If, on entering the door, the visitor 
turned to the left, he found himself in a magazine of old clothes, 
old furniture, china, umbrellas, guns, fishing-rods, dirty fiddles, 
and split flutes. Entering the right-hand room, which had 
originally been that pf an independent house, he was in an 
ordinary photographer’s and print-collector’s depository, to 
which a certain artistic solidity was imparted by a few oil 
paintings in the background. Charlotte made for the latter 
department, and when she was inside Mr. Ray appeared in 
person from the lumber-shop adjoining, which, despite its 
manginess, contributed by far the greater share to his income. 

Charlotte put her question simply enough. The man did 
not answer her directly, but soon found that she meant no harm 
to him. He told her that such misrepresentations were quite 
possible, and that they embodied a form of humour which was 
getting mere and more into vogue among certain facetious 
persons of society. 

Charlotte was coming away when she asked, as on second 
thoughts, if he had any specimens of such work to show her. 

“ None of my own preparation,” said Mr. Ray, with un- 
impeachable probity of tone. “I consider them libellous 
myself. Still, I have one or two samples by me, which I keep 
merely as curiosities. — There’s one,” he said, throwing out a 
portrait card from a drawer. “ That represents the German 
Emperor in a violent passion: this one shows the Prime 
Minister out of his mind ; this the Pope of Rome the worse for 
liquor.” 

She inquired if he had any local specimens. 


332 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Yes/’ he said, “ but I prefer not to exhibit them unless you 
really ask for a particular one that you mean to buy.” 

“ I don’t want any.” 

“ Oh, I beg pardon, miss. Well, I shouldn’t myself have 
known such things were produced, if there had not been a 
young man here at one time who was very ingenious in these 
matters — a Mr. Dare. He was quite a gent, and only did it as 
an amusement, and not for the sake of getting a living.” 

Charlotte had no wish to hear more. On her way home she 
burst into tears : the entanglement was altogether too much 
for her to tear asunder, even had not her own instincts been 
urging her two ways, as they were. 

To immediately right Somerset’s wrong was her impetuous 
desire as an honest woman who loved him ; but such 
rectification would be the jeopardising of all else that gratified 
her — the marriage of her brother with her dearest friend — now 
on the very point of accomplishment. It was a marriage 
which seemed to promise happiness, or at least comfort, if the 
old flutter that had transiently disturbed Paula’s bosom could 
be kept from reviving, to which end it became imperative to 
hide from her the discovery of injustice to Somerset. It im 
volved the advantage of leaving Somerset free ; and though 
her own tender interest in him had been too well schooled by 
habitual self-denial to run ahead on vain personal hopes, there 
was nothing more than human in her feeling pleasure in 
prolonging Somerset’s singleness. Paula might even be 
allowed to discover his wrongs when her marriage had put him 
out of her power. But to let her discover his ill-treatment now 
might upset the impending union of the families, and wring her 
own heart with the sight of Somerset married in her brother’s 
place. 

Why Dare, or any other person, should have set himself to 
advance her brother’s cause by such unscrupulous blackening 
of Somerset’s character was more than her sagacity could 
fathom. Her brother was, as far as she could see, the only 
man who could directly profit by the machination, and was there- 
fore the natural one to suspect of having set it going. But she 
would not be so disloyal as to entertain the thought long ; and 
who or what had instigated Dare, who was undoubtedly the 
proximate cause of the mischief, remained to her an inscrutable 
mystery. 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


333 


The contention of interests and desires with honour in her 
heart shook Charlotte all that night \ but good principle 
prevailed. The wedding was to be solemnised the very next 
morning, though for before-mentioned reasons this was hardly 
known outside the two houses interested ; and there were no 
visible preparations either at villa or castle. De Stancy and 
his groomsman — a brother officer — slept at the former resi- 
dence. 

De Stancy was a sorry specimen of a bridegroom when he 
met his sister in the morning. Thick-coming fancies, for 
which there was more than good reason, had disturbed him 
only too successfully, and he was as full of apprehension as 
one who has a league with Mephistopheles. Charlotte told 
him nothing of what made her likewise so wan and anxious, 
but drove off to the castle, as had been planned, about nine 
o’clock, leaving her brother and his friend at the breakfast- 
table. 

That clearing Somerset’s reputation from the stain which 
had been thrown on it would cause a sufficient reaction in 
Paula’s mind to dislocate present arrangements she did not so 
seriously anticipate, now that morning had a little calmed her. 
Since the rupture with her former architect Paula had sedulously 
kept her own counsel, but Charlotte assumed from the ease 
with which she seemed to do it that her feelings towards him 
had never been inconveniently warm ; and she hoped that 
Paula would learn of Somerset’s purity with merely the 
generous pleasure of a friend, coupled with a friend’s indig- 
nation against his traducer. 

Still, the possibility existed of stronger emotions, and it was 
only too evident to poor Charlotte that, knowing this, she had 
still less excuse for delaying the intelligence till the strongest 
emotion would be purposeless. 

On approaching the castle the first object that caught her 
eye was Dare, standing beside Havill on the scaffolding of the 
new wing. He was looking down upon the drive and court, 
as if in anticipation of the event. His contiguity flurried her, 
and instead of going straight to Paula she sought out Mrs. 
Goodman. 

“ You are come early : that’s right : ” said the latter. “ You 
might as well have slept here last night. We have only Mr. 
Wardlaw, the London lawyer you have heard of, in the house. 


334 


A LAODICEAN . 


Your brother’s solicitor was here yesterday ; but he returned to 
Markton for the night. We miss Mr. Power so much — it is so 
unfortunate that he should have been obliged to go abroad, and 
leave us unprotected women with so much responsibility.” 

“ Yes, I know,” said Charlotte quickly, having a shy distaste 
for the details of what troubled her so much in the gross. 

“ Paula has inquired for you.” 

“ What is she doing ? ” 

" She is in her room : she has hot begun to dress yet. Will 
you go to her ? ” 

Charlotte assented. “ I have to tell her something,” she 
said, “ which will make no difference, but which I should like 
her to know this morning- — at once. I have discovered that we 
have been entirely mistaken about Mr. Somerset.” She nerved 
herself to relate succinctly what had come to her knowledge the 
day before. 

Mrs. Goodman was much impressed. She had never clearly 
heard before what circumstances had attended the resignation 
of Paula’s architect. “ We had better not tell her till the 
wedding is over,” she presently said ; “ it would only disturb 
her, and do no good.” 

“ But will it be right ? ” asked Miss De Stancy. 

“ Yes, it will be right if we tell her afterwards. Oh yes — it 
must be right,” she repeated in a tone which showed that her 
opinion was unstable enough to require a little fortification by 
the voice. “ She loves your brother ; she must, since she is 
going to marry him ; and it can make little difference whether 
we rehabilitate the character of a friend now, or some few hours 
hence. The author of those wicked tricks on Mr. Somerset 
ought not to go a moment unpunished.” 

“ That’s what I think ; and what right have we to hold our 
tongues even for a few hours?” 

Charlotte found that by telling Mrs. Goodman she had 
simply made two irresolute people out of one, and, as Paula 
was now inquiring for her, she went upstairs without having 
come to any decision. 


DE STANCY AND PA ULA. 


335 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Paula was m her boudoir, writing down some notes previous 
to beginning her wedding toilet, which was designed to 
harmonise with the simplicity that characterised the other 
arrangements. She owned that it was depriving the neigh- 
bourhood of a pageant which it had a right to expect of her ; 
but the circumstance was inexorable. 

Mrs. Goodman entered Paula’s room immediately behind 
Charlotte. Perhaps the only difference between the Paula of 
to-day and the Paula of last year was an accession of thought- 
fulness, natural to the circumstances in any case, and more 
particularly when, as now, the bride’s isolation made self- 
dependence a necessity. She was sitting in a light dressing- 
gown, and her face, which was rather pale, flushed at the 
entrance of Charlotte and her aunt. 

“ I knew you were come,” she said, when Charlotte stooped 
and kissed her. “I heard you. I have done nothing this 
morning, and feel dreadfully unsettled. Is all well ? ” 

The question was put without thought, but its aptness seemed 
almost to imply an intuitive knowledge of their previous con- 
versation. “ Yes,” said Charlotte, tardily. 

“ Well, now, Clementine shall dress you, and I can do with 
Milly,” continued Paula. “ Come along. — Well aunt — what’s 
the matter ? — and you Charlotte ? You look harassed.” 

“ I have not slept well,” said Charlotte. 

“ And have not you slept well either, aunt ? You said 
nothing about it at breakfast.” 

“ Oh, it is nothing,” said Mrs. Goodman quickly. “ I have 
been disturbed by learning of somebody’s villainy. I am going 
to tell you all some time to-day, but it is not important enough 
to disturb you with now.” 

“No mystery ! ” argued Paula. “ Come ! it is not fair.” 

“ I don’t think it is quite fair,” said Miss De Stancy, looking 
from one to the other in some distress. “Mrs. Goodman — I 
must tell her ! Paula, Mr. Som ” 

“ He’s dead ! ” cried Paula, sinking into a chair and turning 
as pale as marble. “ Is he dead ?— tell me,” she whispered. 


336 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ No, no— he’s not dead — he is very well, and gone to Nor- 
mandy for a holiday ! ” 

“ Oh — I am glad to hear it,” answered Paula, with a sudden 
cool mannerliness. 

“ He has been misrepresented,” said Mrs. Goodman. “ That’s 
all.” 

“ Well ? ” said Paula, with her eyes bent on the floor. 

“ I have been feeling that I ought to tell you clearly, dear 
Paula,” declared her friend. “ It is absolutely false about his 
telegraphing to you for money — it is absolutely false that his 
character is such as that dreadful picture represented it. There 
— that’s the substance of it, and I can tell you particulars at 
any time.” 

But Paula would not be told at any time. A dreadful sorrow 
sat in her face ; she insisted upon learning everything about 
the matter there and then, and there was no withstanding 
her. 

When it was all explained she said in a low tone : “ It is that 
pernicious, evil man Dare — yet why is it he? — what can he 
have meant by it? Justice before generosity, even on one’s 
wedding-day. Before I become any man’s wife this morning 
I’ll see that wretch in jail ! The affair must be sifted. . . . 
Oh, it was a wicked thing to serve anybody so ! — I’ll send for 
Cunningham Haze this moment — the culprit is even now on 
the premises, I believe — acting as clerk of the works ! ” The 
usually well-balanced Paula was excited, and scarcely knowing 
what she did went to the bell-pull. 

“ Don’t act hastily, Paula,” said her aunt. “ Had you not 
better consult Sir William ? He will act for you in this.” 

“ Yes. — He is coming round in a few minutes,” said 
Charlotte, jumping at this happy thought of Mrs. Goodman’s. 

“ He’s going to run across to see how you are getting on. 
He will be here by ten.” 

“ Yes — he promised last night.” 

She had scarcely done speaking when the prancing of a 
horse was heard in the ward below, and in a few minutes a 
servant announced Sir William De Stancy. 

De Stancy entered saying, “ I have ridden across for ten 
minutes, as I said I would do, to know if everything is easy 
and straightforward for you. There will be time enough for me 
to get back and prepare if I start shortly. — Well ? ” 


DE STANCY AND PAULA. 


337 


M I am ruffled/' said Paula, allowing him to take her hand. 

“ What is it ? ” said her betrothed. 

As Paula did not immediately answer Mrs. Goodman beck- 
oned to Charlotte, and they left the room together. 

“ A man has to be given in charge, or a boy, or a demon,” 
she replied. “ I was going to do it, but you can do it better 
than I. He will run away if we don’t mind.” 

“ But, my dear Paula, who is it ? — what has he done ? ” 

“ It is Dare — that young man you see out there against the 
sky.” She looked from the window sideways towards the new 
wing, on the roof of which Dare was walking prominently about, 
after having assisted two of the workmen in putting a red 
streamer on the tallest scaffold-pole. You must send instantly 
for Mr. Cunningham Haze ! ” 

“ My dearest Paula,” repeated De Stancy faintly, his com- 
plexion changing to that of a man who had died. 

“ Please send for Mr. Haze at once,” returned Paula, with 
graceful firmness. “ I said I would be just to a wronged man 
before I was generous to you — and I will. That lad Dare — 
to take a practical view of it — has attempted to defraud me of 
one hundred pounds sterling, and he shall suffer. I won’t tell 
you what he has done besides, for though it is worse, it is less 
tangible. When he is handcuffed and sent off to jail I’ll proceed 
with my dressing. Will you ring the bell ? ” 

“ Had you not better — consider ? ” began De Stancy. 

“ Consider ! ” said Paula, not without indignation. “ I have 
considered. Will you kindly ring, Sir William, and get Thomas 
to ride at once to Mr. Haze ? Or must I rise from this chair 
and do it myself? ” 

“ You are very hasty and abrupt this morning, I think,” he 
faltered. 

Paula rose determinedly from the chair. 

“ Since you won’t do it, I must,” she said. 

“ No dearest !— Let me beg you not to !” 

“ Sir William De Stancy ! ” 

She moved towards the bell-pull ; but he stepped before 
and intercepted her. 

“ You must not ring the bell for that purpose,” he said with 
husky deliberateness, looking into the depths of her face. 

“ it wants two hours to the time when you might have a right 
to express such a command as that,” she said haughtily. 


338 


A LAODICEAN , . 


“ I certainly have not the honour to be youi husband yet,” 
he sadly replied, “ but surely you can listen ? There exist 
reasons against giving this boy in charge which I could easily 
get you to admit by explanation ; but I would rather, without 
explanation, have you take my word, when I say that by doing 
so you are striking a blow against both yourself and me.” 

Paula, however, had rung the bell. 

“ You are jealous of somebody or something perhaps ! ” she 
said in tones which showed how fatally all this was telling 
against the intention of that day. “ I will not be a party to 
baseness, if it is to save all my fortune ! ” 

The bell was answered quickly. But De Stancy, though 
plainly in great misery, did not give up his point. Meeting the 
servant at the door before he could enter the room he said, 
“ It is nothing ; you can go again.” 

Paula looked at the unhappy baronet in amazement ; then 
turning to the servant, who stood with the door in his hand, 
said, “ Tell Thomas to saddle the chestnut, and ” 

“It’s all a mistake,” insisted De Stancy. “ Leave the room, 
James ! ” 

James looked at his mistress. 

“ Yes, James, leave the room,” she calmly said, sitting down. 
“ Now what have you to say ? ” she asked, when they were again 
alone. “Why mu^t I not issue orders in my own house? 
Who is this young criminal, that you value his interests higher 
than my honour ? I have delayed for one moment sending my 
messenger to the chief constable to hear your explanation — 
only for that.” 

“ You will still persevere ?” 

“ Certainly. Who is he ? ” 

“ Paula . . . he is my son.” 

She remained still as death while one might count ten ; then 
turned her back upon him. “ I think you had better go away,” 
she whispered. “ You need not come again.” 

He did not move. “ Paula — do you indeed mean this ? ” 
he asked. 

“Ido.” 

De Stancy walked a few paces, then said in a low voice : 
“ Miss Power, I knew — I guessed just now, as soon as it began 
— that we were going to split on this rock. Well — let it be — 
it cannot be helped ; destiny is supreme. The boy was to be 


DE STANCY AND PAULA . 


339 


my ruin ; he is my ruin, and rightly. But before I go grant me 
one request. Do not prosecute him. Believe me, I will do 
everything I can to get him out of your way. He shall annoy 
you no more. . . . Do you promise ? ” 

“ I do,” she said. “Now please leave me.” 

“ Once more — am I to understand that no marriage is to 
take place to-day between you and me ? ” 

“You are.” 

Sir William De Stancy left the room. It was noticeable 
throughout the interview that his manner had not been the 
manner of a man altogether taken by surprise. During the few 
preceding days his mood had been that of the gambler seasoned 
in ill-luck, who adopts pessimist surmises as a safe back-ground 
to his most sanguine hopes. 

She remained alone for some time. Then she rang, and re- 
quested that Mr. Wardlaw, her father’s solicitor and friend, 
would come up to her. A messenger was despatched, not to 
Mr. Cunningham Haze, but to the parson of the parish, who in 
his turn sent to the clerk and clerk’s wife, then busy in the 
church. On receipt of the intelligence the two latter function- 
aries proceeded to roll up the carpet which had been laid from 
the door to the gate, put away the kneeling cushions, locked 
the doors, and went off to inquire the reason of so strange a 
countermand. It was soon proclaimed in Markton that the 
marriage had been postponed for a fortnight in consequence of 
the bride’s sudden indisposition : and less public emotion was 
felt than the case might have drawn forth, from the ignorance 
of the majority of the populace that a wedding had been 
going to take place at all. 

Meanwhile Miss De Stancy had been closeted with Paula for 
more than an hour. It was a difficult meeting, and a severe 
test to any friendship but that of the most .sterling sort. In 
the turmoil of her distraction, which might well have been 
severe, Charlotte had the consolation of knowing that if her 
act of justice to Somerset at such a moment were the act of a 
simpleton, it was the only course open to honesty. But Paula’s 
cheerful serenity in some measure laid her own trounles to rest, 
till they were reawakened by a rumour — which got wind some 
weeks later, and quite drowned all other surprises — of the true 
relation between the vanished clerk of works, Mr. Dare, and 
the fallen family of De Stancy. 


Z 2 


340 


A LAODICEAN. 


BOOK THE SIXTH. 

PAULA. 


CHAPTER I. 

“ I have decided that I cannot see Sir William again : 1 
shall go away,” said Paula on the evening of the next day, as 
she lay on her bed in a flushed and highly-strung condition, 
though a person who had heard her words without seeing her 
face would have assumed perfect equanimity to be the 
mood which expressed itself with such quietness. This was 
the case with her aunt, who was looking out of the window 
at some idlers from Markton walking round the castle with 
their eyes bent upon its windows, and she made no haste to 
reply. 

“ Those people have come to see me, as they have a right to 
do when a person acts so strangely,” Paula continued. “ And 
hence I am better away.” 

“ Where do you think to go to ? ” 

Paula replied in the tone of one who was actuated entirely by 
practical considerations : “ Out of England certainly. And as 
Normandy lies nearest, I think I shall go there. It is a very 
nice country to ramble in.” 

“ Yes, it is a very nice country to ramble in,” echoed 
her aunt, in moderate tones. “When do you intend to 
start ? ” 

“ I should like to cross to-night You must go with me, 
aunt ; will you not ? ” 

Mrs. Goodman expostulated against such suddenness. “ It 
will redouble the rumours that are afloat, if, after being 
supposed ill, you are seen going off by railway perfectly 
well.” 

“ That’s a contingency which I am quite willing to run the 
risk of. Well, it would be rather sudden, as you say, to go to- 


PAULA . 


34i 


night But we’ll go to-morrow night at latest.” Under the 
influence of the decision she bounded up like an elastic ball and 
went to the glass, which showed a light in her eye that had 
not been there before this resolution to travel in Normandy 
had been taken. 

The evening and the next morning were passed in writing a 
final note of dismissal to Sir William De Stancy, in making 
arrangements for the journey, and in commissioning Havill to 
take advantage of their absence by emptying certain rooms of 
their furniture, and repairing their dilapidations — a work 
which, with that already in hand, would complete the section 
for which he had been engaged. Mr. Wardlaw had left the 
castle : so also had Charlotte, by her own wish, her residence 
there having been found too oppressive to herself to be con- 
tinued for the present. Accompanied by Mrs. Goodman, Milly, 
and Clementine, the elderly French maid, who still remained 
with them, Paula drove into Markton in the twilight and took 
the train to Budmouth. 

When they got there they found that an unpleasant breeze 
was blowing out at sea, though inland it had been calm enough. 
Mrs. Goodman proposed to stay at Budmouth till the next day, 
in hope that there might be smooth water ; but an English 
seaport inn being a thing that Paula disliked more than a 
rough passage, she would not listen to this counsel. Other im- 
patient reasons, too, might have weighed with her. When 
night came their looming miseries began. Paula found that in 
addition to her own troubles she had those of three other 
people to support ; but she did not audibly complain. 

“ Paula, Paula,” said Mrs. Goodman from beneath her load 
of wretchedness, “ why did we think of undergoing this ? ” 

A slight gleam of humour crossed Paula’s not particularly 
blooming face, as she answered, “ Ah, why indeed ? ” 

“What is the real reason, my dear? For God’s sake tell 
me!” 

“ It begins with S.” 

“ Well, I would do anything for that young man short of 
personal martyrdom; but really when it comes to that ” x 

“ Don’t criticise me, auntie, and I won’t criticise you.” 

“Well, I am open to criticism just now, I am sure,” said 
her aunt with a green smile; and speech was again dis- 
continued. 


342 


A LAODICEAN. 


The morning was bright and beautiful, and it could again be 
seen in Paula’s looks that she was glad she had come, though, 
in taking their rest at Cherbourg, fate consigned them to an 
hotel breathing an atmosphere that seemed specially com- 
pounded for depressing the spirits of a young woman ; indeed 
nothing had particularly encouraged her thus far in her some- 
what peculiar scheme of searching out and expressing sorrow 
to a gentleman for having believed those who traduced him ; 
and this coup daudace to which she had committed herself 
began to look somewhat formidable. When in England the 
plan of following him to Normandy had suggested itself as the 
quickest, sweetest, and most honest way of making amends ; 
but having arrived there she seemed further off from his sphere 
of existence than when she had been at Stancy Castle. 
Virtually she was, for if he thought of her at all, he probably 
thought of her there ; if he sought her he would seek her there. 
However, as he would probably never do the latter, it was 
necessary to go on. It had been her sudden dream, before 
starting, to light accidentally upon him in some romantic old 
town of this romantic old province, but she had become aware 
that the recorded fortune of lovers in that respect was not to be 
trusted too implicitly. 

Somerset’s search for her in the south was now inversely 
imitated. By diligent inquiry in Cherbourg during the gloom 
of evening, in the disguise of a hooded cloak, she learnt out the 
place Qf his stay while there, and that he had gone thence to 
Lisieux. What she knew of the architectural character of 
Lisieux half guaranteed the truth of the information. Without 
telling her aunt of this discovery she announced to that lady 
that it was her great wish to go on and see the beauties of 
Lisieux. 

But though her aunt was simple, there were bounds to her 
simplicity. “ Paula,” she said, with an undeceivable air, “ I 
don’t think you should run after a young man like this. Sup- 
pose he shouldn’t care for you by this time.” 

It was no occasion for further affectation. “ I am sure he 
will,” answered her niece flatly. “ I have not the least fear 
about it ; nor would you, if you knew how he is. He will 
forgive me anything.” 

“ Well, pray don’t show yourself forward. Some people are 
apt to fly into extremes.” 


PAULA. 


343 


Paula blushed a trifle, and reflected, and made no answer. 
However, her purpose seemed not to be permanently affected, 
for the next morning she was up betimes and preparing to 
depart ; and they proceeded almost without stopping to the 
architectural curiosity-town which had so quickly interested her. 
Nevertheless her ardent manner of yesterday underwent a con- 
siderable change, as if she had a fear that, as her aunt suggested, 
in her endeavour to make amends for cruel injustice, she was 
allowing herself to be carried too far. 

On nearing the place she said, “Aunt, I think you had 
better call upon him ; and you need not tell him we have come 
on purpose. Let him think, if he will, that we heard he was 
here, and would not leave without seeing him. You can also 
tell him that I am anxious to clear up a misunderstanding, and 
ask him to call at our hotel.” 

But as she looked over the dreary suburban erections which 
lined the road from the railway to the old quarter of the town, 
it occurred to her that Somerset would at that time of day be 
engaged in one or other of the mediaeval buildings thereabout, 
and that it would be a much neater thing to meet him as if by 
chance in one of these edifices than to call upon him anywhere. 
Instead of putting up at any hotel, they left the maids and 
baggage at the station ; and hiring a carriage, Paula told the 
coachman to drive them to such likely places as she could think 
of. 

“ He’ll never forgive you,” said her aunt, as they rumbled 
into the town. 

“ Won’t he,” said Paula, with soft faith. “ I’ll see about 
that.” ^ 

“ What are you going to do when you find him ? Tell him 
point-blank that you are in love with him ? ” 

£t Act in such a manner that he may tell me he is in love 
with me.” 

They first visited a large church at the upper end of a 
square that sloped its gravelled surface to the western shine, and 
was pricked out with little avenues of young pollard limes. 
The church within was one to make any Gothic architect take 
lodgings in its vicinity for a fortnight, notwithstanding that it 
was just now crowded with a forest of scaffolding by reason of 
repairs in progress. Mrs. Goodman sat down outside, and 
Paula, entering, took a walk in the form of a horse-shoe ; that 


344 


A LAODICEAN. 


is, up the south aisle, round the apse, and down the north side •, 
but no figure of a melancholy young man sketching met her 
eye anywhere. The sun that blazed in at the west doorway 
smote her face as she emerged from beneath it, and revealed 
real sadness there. 

“ This is not all the old architecture of the town by far,” 
she said to her aunt with an air of confidence. “ Coachman, 
drive to St. Jacques’.” 

He was not at St. Jacques’. Looking from the west end of 
that building the girl observed the end of a steep narrow street 
of antique character, which seemed a likely haunt. Beckoning 
to her aunt to follow in the fly Paula walked down the 
street. 

She was transported to the Middle Ages. It contained the 
shops of tinkers, braziers, bellows-menders, hollow-turners, 
and other quaintest trades, their fronts open to the street 
beneath stories of timber overhanging so far on each side that 
a slit of sky was left at the top for. the light to descend, and no 
more. A blue misty obscurity pervaded the atmosphere, into 
which the sun thrust oblique staves of light. It was a street 
for a medisevalist to revel in, toss up his hat and shout hurrah 
in, send for his luggage, come and live in, die and be buried 
in. She had never supposed such a street to exist outside the 
imaginations of antiquarians. Smells direct from the sixteenth 
century hung in the air in all their original integrity and with- 
out a modern taint. The faces of the people in the doorways 
seemed those of individuals who habitually gazed on the great 
Francis, and spoke of Henry the Eighth as the king across the 
sea. „ 

She inquired of a coppersmith if an English' artist had been 
seen here lately. With a suddenness that almost discomfited 
her he announced that such a man had been seen, sketching a 
house just below — the “ Vieux Manoir de Francois premier.” 
Just turning to see that her aunt was following in the fly, Paula 
advanced to the house. The wood framework of the lower 
story was black and varnished ; the upper story was brown 
and not varnished ; carved figures of dragons, griffins, satyrs, 
and mermaids swarmed over the front ; an ape stealing apples 
was the subject of this cantilever, a man undressing of that. 
These figures were cloaked with little cobwebs which waved 
in the breeze, so that each figure seemed alive. 


PA C/LA. 


345 


She examined the woodwork closely ; here and there she dis- 
cerned pencil-marks which had no doubt been jotted thereon 
by Somerset as points of admeasurement, in the way she 
had seen him mark them at the castle. Some fragments of 
paper lay below ; there were pencilled lines on them, and they 
bore a strong resemblance to a spoilt leaf of Somerset’s sketch- 
book. Paula glanced up, and from a window above protruded 
an old woman’s head, which, with the exception of the white 
handkerchief tied round it, was so nearly of the colour of the 
carvings that she might easily have passed as of a piece with 
them. The aged woman continued motionless, the remains of 
her eyes being bent upon Paula, who asked her in English- 
woman’s French where the sketcher had gone. Without reply- 
ing, the crone produced a hand and extended finger from her 
side, and pointed towards the lower end of the street. 

Paula went on, the carriage following with difficulty, on 
account of the obstructions in the thoroughfare. At bottom, 
the street abutted on a wide one with customary modern life 
flowing through it ; and as she looked, Somerset crossed her 
front along this street, hurrying as if for a wager. 

By the time that Paula had reached the bottom Somerset 
was a long way to the left, and she recognised to her dismay 
that the busy transverse street was one which led to the rail- 
way. She quickened her pace to a run ; he did not see her ; 
he even walked faster. She looked behind for the carriage. 
The driver in emerging from the sixteenth-century street to the 
nineteenth had apparently turned to the right, instead of to the 
left as she had done, so that her aunt had lost sight of her. 
However, she did not mind it, if Somerset would but look back ! 
He partly turned, but not far enough, and it was only to hail a 
passing omnibus upon which she discerned his luggage. 
Somerset jumped in, the omnibus drove on, and diminished 
up the long road. Paula stood hopelessly still, and in a few 
minutes puffs of steam showed her that the train had gone. 

She turned and waited, the two or three children who had 
gathered round her looking up sympathisingly in her face. 
Her aunt, having now discovered the direction of her flight, 
drove up and beckoned to her. 

“ What’s the matter ? ” asked Mrs. Goodman in alarm. 

“ Why ? ” 

“ That you should run like that, and look so woe-begone.” 


346 


A LAODICEAN. 


“Nothing: only I have decided not to stay in this town.” 

“ What ! he is gone, I suppose ? ” 

“Yes ! ” exclaimed Paula with tears of vexation in her eyes. 
“ It isn’t every man who gets a woman of my position to run 
after him on foot, and alone, and he ought to have looked 
round ! Drive to the station ; I want to make an inquiry.” 

On reaching the station she asked the booking-clerk some 
questions, and returned to her aunt with a cheerful counte- 
nance. “ Mr. Somerset has only gone to Caen,” she said. 
“ He is the only Englishman who went by this train, so there 
is no mistake. There is no other train for two hours. We 
will go on then — shall we ? ” 

“ I am indifferent,” said Mrs. Goodman. “ But, Paula, do 
you think this quite right ? Perhaps he is not so anxious for 
your forgiveness as you think. Perhaps he saw you, and 
wouldn’t stay.” 

A momentary dismay crossed her face, but it passed, and 
she answered, “ Aunt, that’s nonsense. I know him well 
enough, and can assure you that if he had only known I was 
running after him, he would have looked round sharply enough, 
and would have given his little finger rather than have missed 
me ! I don’t make myself so silly as to run after a gentleman 
without good grounds, for I know well that it is an undignified 
thing to do. Indeed, I could never have thought of doing it, 
if I had not been so miserably in the wrong ! ” 


CHAPTER II. 

That evening when the sun was dropping out of sight they 
started for the city of Somerset’s pilgrimage. Paula seated 
herself with her face toward the western sky, watching from 
her window the broad red horizon, across which moved 
scattered trees shrouded to human shapes, like the walking 
forms in Nebuchadnezzar’s .urnace. It was dark when the 
travellers drove into Caen. 

She still persisted in her wish to casually encounter 
Somerset in some aisle, lady-chapel, or crypt to which lie 


PAULA. 


347 


might have betaken himself to copy and lea:m the secret of the 
great artists who had erected those nooks. Mrs. Goodman 
was for discovering his inn, and calling upon him in a straight- 
forward way ; but Paula seemed afraid of it, and they went 
out in the morning on foot. First they searched the church 
of St. Sauveur ; he was not there ; next the church of St. 
Jean ; then the church of St. Pierre ; but he did not reveal 
himself, nor had any verger seen or heard of such a man. 
Outside the latter church was a public flower-garden, and she 
sat down to consider beside a round pool in which water-lilies 
grew and gold-fish swam, near beds of fiery geraniums, dahlias, 
and verbenas just past their bloom. Her enterprise had not 
been justified by its results so far ; but meditation still urged 
her to listen to the little voice within and push on. She 
accordingly rejoined her aunt, and they drove up the hill to 
the Abbaye aux Dames, the day by this time having grown 
hot and oppressive. 

The church seemed absolutely empty, the void being 
emphasized by its grateful coolness. But on going towards 
the east end they perceived a bald gentleman close to the 
screen, looking to the right and to the left as if much 
perplexed. Paula merely glanced over him, his back being 
toward her, and turning to her aunt said softly, “ I wonder 
how we get into the choir ? ” 

“ That’s just what I am wondering,” said the old gentle- 
man, abruptly facing round, and Paula discovered that the 
countenance was not unfamiliar to her eye. Since know- 
ing Somerset she had added to her gallery of celebrities a 
portrait of his father, the Academician, and he it was now who 
confronted her. 

For the moment embarrassment, due to complicated 
feelings, brought a slight blush to her cheek, but being well 
aware that he did not know her, she answered, coolly enough, 
“ I suppose we must ask some one.” 

“ And„we certainly would if there were any one to ask,” he 
said, still looking eastward, and not much at her. “ I have 
been here a long time, but nobody comes. Not that I want to 
get in on my own account ; for though it is thirty years since I 
last set foot in this place, I remember it as if it were but 
yesterday.” 

“ Indeed. I have never been here before,” said Paula. 

Vol 7 (L) 


348 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Naturally. But I am looking for a young man who is 
making sketches in some of these buildings, and it is as likely 
as not that he is in the crypt under this choir, for it is just 
such out-of-the-way nooks that he prefers. It is very pro- 
voking that he should not have told me more distinctly in his 
letter where to find him.” 

Mrs. Goodman, who had gone to make inquiries, now came 
back, and informed them that she had learnt that it was 
necessary to pass through the Hotel-Dieu to the choir, to do 
which they must go outside. Thereupon they walked on 
together, and Mr. Somerset, quite ignoring his troubles, made 
remarks upon the beauty of the architecture ; and in absence 
of mind, by reason either of the subject, or of his. listener, 
retained his hat in his hand after emerging from the church, 
while they walked all the way across the Place and into the 
Hospital gardens. 

“ A very civil man,” said Mrs. Goodman to Paula privately. 

“Yes,” said Paula, who had not told her aunt that she 
recognised him. 

One of the Sisters now preceded them towards the choir and 
crypt, Mr. Somerset asking her if a young Englishman was 
or had been sketching there. On receiving a reply in the 
negative, Paula nearly betrayed herself by turning, as if her 
business there, too, ended with the information. However, she 
went on again, and made a pretence of looking round, Mr. 
Somerset also staying in a spirit of friendly attention to his 
countrywomen. They did not part from him till they had 
come out from the crypt, and again reached the west front, on 
their way to which he additionally explained that it was his 
son he was looking for, who had arranged to meet him here, 
but had mentioned no inn at which he might be expected. 

When he had left them, Paula informed her aunt whose 
conpany they had been sharing. Her aunt began expostulating 
with Paula for not telling Mr. Somerset what they had seen of 
his son’s movements. “ It would have eased his mind at least,” 
she said. 

“I was not bound to ease his mind at the expense of 
showing what I would rather conceal. I am continually 
hampered in such generosity as that by the circumstance of 
being a woman ! ” 

“ Well, it is getting too late to search further to-night” 


PA ULA. 


349 


It was indeed almost evening twilight in the streets, though 
the graceful freestone spires to a depth of about twenty feet 
from their summits were still dyed with the orange tints of a 
vanishing sun. The two relatives dined privately as usual, 
after which Paula looked out of the window of her room, and 
reflected upon the events of the day. A tower rising into the 
sky quite near at hand showed her that some church or other 
stood within a few steps of the hotel archway, and saying 
nothing to Mrs. Goodman, she quietly cloaked herself, and 
went out towards it, apparently with the view of disposing of a 
portion of a dull dispiriting evening. The church was open, 
and on entering she found that it was only lighted by seven 
candles burning before the altar of a chapel on the south side, 
the mass of the building being in deep shade. Motionless 
outlines, which resolved themselves into the forms of kneeling 
women, were darkly visible among the chairs, and in the 
triforium above the arcades there was one hitherto unnoticed 
radiance, dim as that of a glowworm in the grass. It was 
seemingly the effect of a solitary tallow-candle behind the 
masonry. 

A priest came in, unlocked the door of a confessional with a 
click which sounded loud in the silence, and entered it ; a 
woman followed, disappeared within the curtain of the same, 
emerging again in about five minutes, followed by the priest, 
who locked up his door with another loud click, like a trades- 
man full of business, and came down the aisle to go out. In 
the lobby he spoke to another woman, who replied, “ Ah, oui, 
Monsieur l’Abb^ ! ” 

Two women having spoken to him, there could be no harm 
in a third doing likewise. “ Monsieur l’Abbd,” said Paula in 
French, “ could you indicate to me the stairs of the tri- 
forium ? ” and she signified her reason for wishing to know by 
pointing to the glimmering light above. 

“ Ah, he is a friend of yours, the Englishman ? ” pleasantly 
said the priest, recognising her nationality ; and taking her to 
a little door he conducted her up a stone staircase, at the top 
of which he showed her the long blind story over the aisle 
arches which led round to where the light was. Cautioning 
her not to stumble over the uneven floor, he left her and 
descended. His words had signified that Somerset was here. 

It was a gloomy place enough that she found herself in, but 


35o 


A LAODICEAN. 


the seven candles below on the opposite altar, and a faint 
sky light from the clerestory, lent enough rays to guide her. 
Paula walked on. to the bend of the apse : here were a few 
chairs, and the origin of the light. 

This was a candle stuck at the end of a sharpened stick, the 
latter entering a joint in the stones. A young man was 
sketching by the glimmer. But there was no need for the 
blush which had prepared itself beforehand; the young man 
was Mr. Cockton, Somerset’s youngest draughtsman. 

Paula could have cried aloud with disappointment. Cock- 
ton recognised Miss Power, and appearing much surprised, 
rose from his seat with a bow, and said hastily, “ Mr. Somerset 
left to-day.” 

“I did not ask for him,” said Paula. 

“ No, Miss Power : but I thought ” 

“Yes, yes — you know, of course, that he has been my 
architect. Well, it happens that I should like to see him, if he 
can call on me. Which way did he go ? ” 

“ He’s gone to £tretat.” 

“ What for ? There are no abbeys to sketch at £tretat.” 

Cockton looked at the point of his pencil, and with a 
hesitating motion of his lip answered, “ Mr. Somerset said he 
was tired.” 

“ Of what ? ” 

“ He said he was sick and tired of holy places, and would 
go to some wicked spot or other, to get that consolation which 
holiness could not give. But he only said it casually to 
Knowles, and perhaps he did not mean it.” 

“ Knowles is here too ? ” 

“Yes, Miss Power, and Bowles. Mr. Somerset has been 
kind enough to give us a chance of enlarging our knowledge of 
French Early-pointed, and pays half the expenses.” 

Paula said a few other things to the young man, walked 
slowly round the triforium as if she had come to examine it, 
and returned down the staircase. On getting back to the 
hotel she told her aunt, who had just been having a nap, that 
next day they would go to £tretat for a change. 

“ Why ? There are no old churches at £tretat.” 

“ No. But I am sick and tired of holy places, and want to 
go to some wicked spot or other to find that consolation which 
holiness cannot give.” 


“ For shame, Paula ! Now I know what it is ; you have 
heard that he’s gone there ! You needn’t try to blind me.” 

“ I don’t care where he’s gone ! ” cried Paula, petulantly. 
In a moment, however, she smiled at herself, and added, “ You 
must take that for what it is worth. I have made up my mind 
to let him know from my own lips how the misunderstanding 
arose. That done, I shall leave him, and probably never see 
him again. My conscience will be clear.” 

The next day th ' 1 11 iboat down the Orne, 



intending to reach 


Havre. Just as they 


were moving off an elderly gentleman under a large white 
sunshade, and carrying his hat in his hand, was seen leisurely 
walking down the wharf at some distance, but obviously 
making for the boat. 

“ A gentleman ! ” said the mate. 

“ Who is he ? ” said the captain. 

“ An English,” said Clementine. 

Nobody knew more, but as leisure was the order of the day 
the engines were stopped, on the chance of his being a 
passenger, and all eyes were bent upon him in conjecture. 
He disappeared and reappeared from behind a pile of mer- 
chandise and approached the boat at an easy pace, whereupon 
the gangway was replaced, and he came on board, removing 
his hat to Paula, quietly thanking the captain for stopping, and 
saying to Mrs. Goodman, “ I am nicely in time.” 

It was Mr. Somerset the elder, who by degrees informed our 
travellers, as sitting on their camp-stools they advanced 
between the green banks bordered by elms, that he was going 
to £tretat ; that the young man he had spoken of yesterday 
had gone to that romantic watering-place instead of studying 
art at Caen, and that he was going to join him there. 

Paula preserved an entire silence as to her own intentions, 
partly from natural reticence, and partly, as it appeared, from 
the difficulty of explaining a complication which was not very 
clear to herself. At Havre they parted from Mr. Somerset, 
and did not see him again till they were driving over the hills 
• towards £tretat in a carriage and four, when the white umbrella 
became visible far ahead among the outside passengers of the 
coach to the same place. In a short time they had passed and 
cut in before this vehicle, but soon became aware that their 
carriage, like the coach, was one of a straggling procession of 


352 


A LAODICEAN. 


conveyances, some mile and a half in length, all bound for the 
village between the cliffs. 

In descending the long hill shaded by lime-trees which 
sheltered their place of destination, this procession closed up, 
and they perceived that all the visitors and native population 
had turned but to welcome them, the daily arrival of new sojourn- 
ers at this hour being the chief excitement of £tretat. The 
coach which had preceded them all the way, at more or less 
remoteness, was now quite close, and in passing along the 
village street they saw Mr. Somerset wave his hand to some- 
body in the crowd below. A felt hat was waved in the air in 
response, the coach swept into the inn-yard, followed by the 
idlers, and all disappeared. Paula’s face was crimson as their 
own carriage swept round in the opposite direction to the rival 
inn. 

Once in her room she breathed like a person who had 
finished a long chase. They did not go down before dinner, 
but when it was almost dark Paula begged her aunt to wrap 
herself up and come with her to the shore hard by. The 
beach was deserted, everybody being at the Casino ; the gate 
stood invitingly open, and they went in. Here the brilliantly 
lit terrace was crowded with promenaders, and outside the 
yellow palings, surmounted by its row of lamps, rose the voice 
of the invisible sea. Groups of people were sitting under the 
verandah, the women mostly in wraps, for the air was growing 
chilly. Through the windows at their back an animated scene 
disclosed itself in the shape of a room-full of waltzers, the strains 
of the band striving in the ear for mastery over the sounds of 
the sea. The dancers came round a couple at a time, and 
were individually visible to those people without who chose to 
look that way, which was what Paula did. 

“ Come away, come away 1 ” she suddenly said. u It is not 
right for us to be here.” 

Her exclamation had its origin in what she had at that 
moment seen within, the spectacle of Mr. George Somerset 
whirling round the room with a young lady of uncertain nation- 
ality but pleasing figure. Paula was not accustomed to show 
the white feather too clearly, but she soon had passed out 
through those yellow gates and retreated, till the mixed music 
of sea and band had resolved into that of the sea alone. 

“ Well 1 ” said her aunt, half in soliloquy, “ do you know who 


PAULA. 353 

I saw dancing there, Paula ? Our Mr. Somerset, if I don’t 
make a great mistake ! ” 

^ “ It was likely enough that you did,” sedately replied her 
niece. “ He left Caen with the intention of seeking distrac- 
tions of a lighter kind than those furnished by art, and he has 
merely succeeded in finding them. But he has made my duty 
rather a difficult one. Still, it was my duty, for I very greatly 
wronged him. Perhaps, however, I have done enough for 
honour’s sake. I would have humiliated myself by an apology 
if I had found him in any other situation ; but, of course, one 
can’t be expected to take much trouble when he is seen going 
on like that.” 

The coolness with which she began her remarks had de- 
veloped into something like warmth as she concluded. 

“ He is only dancing with a lady he probably knows very 
well.” 

“ He doesn’t know her — I can see he doesn’t know her ! 
We will go away to-morrow. This place has been greatly over- 
praised.” 

“ The place is well enough, as far as I can see.” 

“ He is carrying out his programme to the letter. He 
plunges into excitement in the most reckless manner, and I 
tremble for the consequences. I can do no more : I have 
humiliated myself into following him, believing that in giving 
too ready credence to appearances I had been narrow and in- 
human, and had caused him much misery. But he does not 
mind, and he has no misery ; he seems just as well as ever. 
How much this finding him has cost me ! After all, I did not 
deceive him. He must have acquired a natural aversion for 
me. I have allowed myself to be interested in a man of very 
common qualities, and am now bitterly alive to the shame of 
having sought him out. I heartily detest him ! I will go back 
— aunt, you are right — I had no business to come. . . . His 
light conduct has rendered him uninteresting to me 1 ” 


2 A 


354 


A LAODICEAN. 


CHAPTER III. 

When she rose the next morning the bell was clanging foi 
the second breakfast, and people were pouring in from the 
beach in every variety of attire. Paula, whom a restless night 
had left with a headache, which, however, she said nothing 
about, was reluctant to emerge from the seclusion of her 
chamber, till her aunt, discovering what was the matter with 
her, suggested that a few minutes in the open air would refresh 
her ; and they went downstairs into the hotel gardens. 

The clatter of the big breakfast within was audible from this 
spot, and the noise seemed suddenly to inspirit Paula, who 
proposed to enter. Her aunt assented. In the verandah under 
which they passed was a rustic hat-stand in the form of a tree, 
upon which hats and other body-gear hung like bunches of 
fruit. Paula’s eye fell upon a felt hat to which a small block- 
book was attached by a string. She knew that hat and block- 
book well, and turning to Mrs. Goodman said, “After all, I 
don’t want the breakfast they are having : let us order one of 
our own as usual. And we’ll have it here.” 

She led on to where some little tables were placed under 
the tall shrubs, followed by her aunt, who was in turn followed 
by the proprietress of the hotel, that lady having discovered 
from the French maid that there was good reason for paying 
these ladies ample personal attention. 

“Is the gentleman to whom that sketch-book belongs 
staying here ? ” Paula carelessly inquired, as she indicated the 
object on the hat-stand. 

“ Ah, no ! ” deplored the proprietress. “ The Hotel was full 
when Mr. Somerset came. He stays at a cottage beyond the 
Rue Anicet Bourgeois : he only has his meals here.” 

Paula had taken her seat under the fuchsia-trees in such a 
manner that she could observe all the exits from the salle 
& manger ; but for the present none of the breakfasters 
emerged, the only moving objects on the scene being the 
waitresses who ran hither and thither across the court, the 


PAULA . 


355 

cook’s assistants with baskets of long bread, and the laundresses 
with baskets of sun-bleached linen. Further back, towards the 
inn-yard, stablemen were putting in the horses for starting the 
flys and coaches to Les Ifs, the nearest railway-station. 

“Suppose the Somersets should be going off by one of these 
conveyances,” said Mrs. Goodman as she sipped her tea. 

“Well, aunt, then they must,” replied the younger lady with 
composure. 

Nevertheless she looked with some misgiving at the nearest 
stableman as he led out four white horses, harnessed them, 
and leisurely brought a brush with which he began blacking 
their yellow hoofs. All the vehicles were ready at the door by 
the time breakfast was over, and the inmates soon turned out, 
some to mount the omnibuses and carriages, some to ramble 
on the adjacent beach, some to climb the verdant slopes, and 
some to make for the cliffs that shut in the vale. The fuchsia- 
trees which sheltered Paula’s breakfast-table from the blaze of 
the sun, also screened it from the eyes of the outpouring 
company, and she sat on with her aunt in perfect comfort, till 
among the last of the stream came Somerset and his father. 
Paula reddened at being so near the former at last. It was 
with sensible relief that she observed them turn towards the 
cliffs and not to the carriages, and thus signify that they were 
not going off that day. 

Neither of the two saw the ladies, and when the latter had 
finished their tea and coffee they followed to the shore, where 
they sat for nearly an hour, reading and watching the bathers. 
At length footsteps crunched among the pebbles in their 
vicinity, and looking out from her sunshade Paula saw the two 
Somersets close at hand, 

The elder recognised her, and the younger, observing his 
father’s action of courtesy, turned his head. It was a 
revelation to Paula, for she was shocked to see that he 
appeared worn and ill. The expression of his face changed 
at sight of her, increasing its shade of paleness ; but he 
immediately withdrew his eyes and passed by. 

Somerset was as much suprised at encountering her thus as 
she had been distressed to see him. As soon as they were out 
of hearing, he asked his father quietly, “ What strange thing 
is this, that Lady De Stancy should be here and her husband 
not with her ? Did she bow to me, or to you ? ” 


2 A 3 


356 


A LAODICEAN. 


“Lady De Stancy — that young lady?” asked the puzzled 
painter. He proceeded to explain all he knew ; that she was 
a young lady he had met on his journey at two or three 
different times ; moreover, that if she were his son’s client — 
the woman who was to have become Lady De Stancy — she 
was Miss Power still ; for he had seen in some newspaper two 
days before leaving England that the wedding had been post- 
poned on account of her illness. 

Somerset was so greatly moved that he could hardly speak 
connectedly to his father as they paced on together. “ But 
she is ljot ill, as far as I can see,” he said. “ The wedding 
postponed ? — You are sure the word was postponed ? — Was it 
broken off ? ” 

“No, it was postponed. I meant to have told you before, 
knowing you would be interested as the castle architect ; but it 
slipped my memory in the bustle of arriving.” 

“I am not the castle architect” ^ 

“ The devil you are not — what are you then ? ” 

“ Well, I am not that.” 

Somerset the elder, though not of penetrating nature, began 
to see that here lay an emotional complication of some sort, 
and reserved further inquiry till a more convenient occasion. 
They had reached the end of the level beach where the cliff 
began to rise, and as this impediment naturally stopped their 
walk they retraced their steps. On again nearing the spot 
where Paula and her aunt were sitting, the painter would have 
deviated to the hotel ; but as his son persisted in going straight 
on, in due course they were opposite the ladies again. By this 
lime Miss Power, who had appeared anxious during their absence, 
regained her self-control. Going towards her old lover she said, 
with a smile, “ I have been looking for you ! ” 

“ Why have you been doing that? ” said Somerset, in a voice 
which he failed to keep as steady as he could wish. 

“ Because — I want some architect to continue the restoration. 
Do you withdraw your resignation ? ” 

Somerset appeared unable to decide for a few instants. “ Yes,” 
he then answered. 

For the moment they had ignored the presence of the painter 
and Mrs. Goodman, but Somerset now made them known to 
one another, and there was friendly intercourse all round. 

“When will you be able to resume operations at the castle?” 


PAULA 


357 

she asked, as soon as she could again speak directly to 
Somerset. 

“ As soon as I can get back. Of course I only resume it at 
your special request.” 

“Of course.” To one who had known all the circumstances 
it would have seemed a thousand pities that, after again getting 
face to face with him, she did not explain, without delay, the 
whole mischief that had separated them. But she did not do it 
— perhaps from the inherent awkwardness of such a topic at 
this idle time. She confined herself simply to the above- 
mentioned business-like request, and when the party had walked 
a few steps together they separated, with mutual promises to 
meet again. 

“ I hope you have explained your mistake to him, and how 
it arose, and everything ? ” said her aunt when they were alone. 

“No, I did not.” 

“ What, not explain after all ? ” said her amazed relative. 

“ I decided to put it off.” 

“ Then I think you decided very wrongly. Poor young man, 
he looked so ill !” 

“ Did you, too, think he looked ill ? But he danced last night. 
Why did he dance ? ” She turned and gazed regretfully at the 
corner round which the Somersets had disappeared. 

“ I don’t know why he danced ; but if I had known you were 
going to be so silent, I would have explained the mistake 
myself.” 

“ I wish you had. But no ; I have said I would ; and I 
must.” 

Paula’s avoidance of tables cLhbte did not extend to the present 
one. It was quite with alacrity that she went down ; and with 
her entry the antecedent hotel beauty who had reigned for the 
last five days at that meal, was unceremoniously deposed by the 
guests. Mr. Somerset the elder came in, but nobody with him. 
His seat was on Paula’s left hand, Mrs. Goodman being on 
Paula’s right, so that ' all the conversation was between the 
Academician and the younger lady. When the latter had again 
retired upstairs with her aunt, Mrs. Goodman expressed regret 
that young Mr. Somerset was absent from the table. “ Why 
has he kept away ? ” she asked. 

“ I don’t know — I didn’t ask,” said Paula sadly. “ Perhaps 
he doesn’t care to meet us again.” 


35 * 


A LAODICEAN . 


“ That’s because you didn’t explain.” 

“ Well — why didn’t the old man give me an opportunity ? ” 
exclaimed the niece with suppressed excitemen. “ He would 
scarcely say anything but yes and no, and gave me no chance 
at all of introducing the subject. I wanted to explain — I came 
all the way on purpose — I would have begged George’s pardon 
on my knees if there had been any way of beginning; but there 
was not, and I could not do it ! ” 

Though she slept badly that night, Paula promptly appeared 
in the public room to breakfast, and that not from motives of 
vanity; for, while not unconscious of her accession to the 
unstable throne of queen-beauty in the establishment, she seemed 
too preoccupied to care for the honour just then, and would 
readily have changed places with her unhappy predecessor, who 
lingered on in the background like a candle after sunrise. 

Mrs. Goodman was determined to trust no longer to Paula 
for putting an end to what made her so restless and self-reproach- 
ful. Seeing old Mr. Somerset enter to a little side-table behind 
for lack of room at the crowded centre tables, again without his 
son, she turned her head and asked point-blank where the young 
man was. 

Mr. Somerset’s face became a shade graver than before. “ My 
son is unwell,” he replied ; “ so unwell that he has been advised 
to stay indoors and take perfect rest.” 

“ I do hope it is nothing serious ? ” 

“ I hope so too. The fact is, he has overdone himself a little. 
He was not well when he came here ; and to make himself worse 
he must needs go dancing at the Casino with a young American 
lady who is here with her family, and whom he met in London last 
year. I advised him against it, but he seemed desperately 
determined to shake off lethargy by any rash means, and wouldn’t 
listen to me. Luckily he is not in the hotel, but in a quiet 
cottage a hundred yards up the hill.” 

Paula, who had heard all, did not show or say what she felt 
at the news : but after breakfast, on meeting the landlady in a 
passage, alone, she asked with some anxiety if there were a really 
skilful medical man in £tretat ; and on being told that there was, 
and his name, she went back to look for Mr. Somerset ; but he 
had gone. 

They heard nothing more of young Somerset all that morning, 
but towards evening, while Paula sat at her window, looking 


PAULA . 


359 


over the heads of fuchsias upon the promenade beyond, she 
saw the painter walk by. She immediately went to her aunt 
and begged her to go out and ask Mr. Somerset if his son had 
improved. 

“ I will send Milly or Clementine,” said Mrs. Goodman. 

“ I wish you would see him yourself.” 

“He has gone on. I shall never find him.” 

“ He has only gone round to the front,” persisted Paula. 
“ Do walk that way, auntie, and ask him.” 

Thus pressed, Mrs. Goodman acquiesced, and brought back 
intelligence to Miss Power, who had watched them through the 
window, that his son did not positively improve, but that his 
American friends were very kind to him. 

Having made use of her aunt, Paula seemed particularly 
anxious to get rid of her again, and when that lady sat down to 
write letters, Paula went to her own room, hastily dressed her- 
self without assistance, asked privately the way to the cottage, 
and went off thitherward unobserved. 

At the upper end of the lane she saw a little house answering 
to the description, whose front garden, window-sills, palings, 
and doorstep were literally ablaze with nasturtiums in bloom. 

She entered this inhabited nosegay, quietly asked for the 
invalid, and if he were well enough to see Miss Power. The 
woman of the house soon returned, and she was conducted up a 
crooked staircase to Somerset’s modest apartments. It ap- 
peared that some rooms in this dwelling had been furnished by 
the landlady of the inn, who hired them of the tenant during 
the summer season to use as an annexe to the hotel; 

Admitted to the outer room she beheld her architect looking 
as unarchitectural as possible ; lying on a small couch which 
was drawn up to the open casement, whence he had a back 
view of the window flowers, and enjoyed a green transparency 
through the undersides of the same nasturtium leaves that 
presented their faces to the passers without. 

When the latch had again clicked into the catch of the closed 
door Paula went up to the invalid, upon whose pale and 
interesting face a flush had arisen simultaneously with the 
announcement of her name. He would have sprung up to 
receive her, but she pressed him down, and throwing all reserve 
on one side for the first time in their intercourse, she crouched 
beside the sofa, whispering with roguish solicitude, her face 


360 


A LAODICEAN. 


not too far from his own : “ How foolish you are, George, to 
get ill just now when I have been wanting so much to see you 
again ! — I am so sorry to see you like this — what I said to you 
when we met on the shore was not what I had come to say 1 ” 

Somerset took her by the hand. “ Then what did you come 
to say, Paula ? ” he asked. 

“ I wanted to tell you that the mere wanton wandering of a 
capricious mind was not the cause of my estrangement from 
you. There has been a great deception practised — the exact 
nature of it I cannot tell you plainly just at present ; it is too 
painful — but it is all over, and I can assure you of my sorrow 
at having behaved as I did, and of my sincere friendship now 
as ever.” 

“ There is nothing I shall value so much as that. It will 
make my work at the castle very pleasant to feel that I can 
consult you about it without fear of intruding on you against, 
your wishes.” 

“ Yes, perhaps it will. But — you do not comprehend me.” 

“ You have been an enigma always.” 

“ And you have been provoking ; but never so provoking as 
now. I wouldn’t for the world tell you the whole of my fancies 
as I came hither this evening ; but I should think your natural 
intuition would suggest what they were.” 

“ It does, Paula. But there are motives of delicacy which 
prevent my acting on what is suggested to me.” 

“ Delicacy is a gift, and you should thank God for it ; but in 
some cases it is not so precious as we would persuade our- 
selves.” 

“ Not when the woman is rich, and the man is poor? ” 

“ Oh, George Somerset — be cold, or angry, or anything, but 
don’t be like this ! It is never worth a woman’s while to show 
regret for her injustice ; for all she gets by it is an accusation 
of want of delicacy.” 

“ Indeed I don’t accuse you of that — I warmly, tenderly thank 
you for your kindness in coming here to see me.” 

“ Well, perhaps you do. But I am now in I cannot tell what 
mood — I will not tell what mood, for it would be confessing 
more than I ought. This finding you out is a piece of weakness 
that I shall not repeat ; and I have only one thing more to say. 
I have served you badly, George, I know that ; but it is never 
too late to mend ; and I have come back to you. However, I 


PAULA . 


36] 

shall never run after you again, trust me for that, for it is not 
the woman’s part. Still, before I go, that there may be no 
mistake as to my meaning, and misery entailed on us for want 
of a word, I’ll add this : that if you want to marry me, as you 
once did, you must say so ; for I am here to be asked.” 

It would be superfluous to transcribe Somerset’s reply, and 
the remainder of the scene between the pair. Let it suffice 
that half an hour afterwards, when the sun had almost gone 
down, Paula walked briskly into the hotel, troubled herself 
nothing about dinner, but went upstairs to their sitting-room, 
where her aunt presently found her upon the couch looking up 
at the ceiling through her fingers. They talked on different 
subjects for some time till the old lady said, “ Mr. Somerset’s 
cottage is the one covered with flowers up the lane, I hear.” 

“ Yes,” said Paula. 

“ How do you know ? ” 

“ I’ve been there. . . . We are going to be married, aunt.” 

“ Indeed 1 ” replied Mrs. Goodman. “ Well, I thought this 
might be the end of it : you were determined on the point ; and 
I am not much surprised at your news. Your father was very 
wise after all in entailing everything so strictly upon your off 
spring ; for if he had not I should have been driven wild with 
the responsibility ! ” 

“ Aunt now that the murder is out,” continued Paula, passing 
over that view of the case, “ I don’t mind telling you that some- 
how or other I have got to like George Somerset as desperately 
as a woman can care for any man. I thought I should have 
died when I saw him dancing, and feared I had lost him ! He 
seemed ten times nicer than ever then ! So silly we women are, 
that I wouldn’t marry a duke in preference to him. There, that’s 
my honest feeling, and you must make what you can of it ; my 
conscience is clear, thank Heaven.” 

“ Have you fixed the day?” 

“ No,” continued the young lady, still watching the sleeping 
flies on the ceiling. “It is left unsettled between us, while I 
come and ask you if there would be any harm — if it could con- 
veniently be before we return to England? ” 

- “ Paula, this is too precipitate.” 

“ On the contrary, aunt. In matrimony, as in some other 
things, you should be slow to decide, but quick to execute. 
Nothing on earth would make me marry another man ; I know 


3^2 


A LAODICEAN. 


every fibre of his character ; and he knows a good many fibres 
of mine ; so as there is nothing more to be learnt, why shouldn’t 
we marry at once? On one point I am firm : I will never return 
to that castle as Miss Power. A nameless dread comes over me 
when I think of it — a fear that some uncanny influence of the 
dead De Stancys would drive me again from him. Oh, if it were 
to do that,” she murmured, burying her face in her hands, “ I 
really think it would be more than I could bear ! ” 

“ Very well,” said Mrs. Goodman ; “ we will see what can be 
done. I will write to Mr. Wardlaw.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

On a windy afternoon in November, when more than two 
months had closed over the incidents previously recorded, 
a number of farmers were sitting in a room of the King’s 
Arms Inn, Markton, that was used for the weekly ordinary. 
It was a long, low apartment, formed by the union of two or 
three smaller rooms, with a bow window looking upon the 
street, and at the present moment was pervaded by a blue fog 
from tobacco-pipes, and a temperature like that of a kiln. The 
body of farmers who still sat on there was greater than usual, 
owing to the cold air without, the tables having been cleared of 
dinner for some time and their surface stamped with liquid 
circles by the feet of the numerous glasses. 

Besides the farmers there were present several professional 
men of the town, who found it desirable to dine here on market 
days for the opportunity it afforded them of increasing their 
practice among the agriculturists, many of whom were men of 
large balances, even luxurious livers, who drove to market in 
elegant phaetons drawn by horses of supreme blood, bone, and 
action, in a style never anticipated by their fathers when 
jogging thither in light carts, or afoot with a butter basket on 
each arm. 

The buzz of groggy conversation was suddenly impinged on 
by the notes of a peal of bells from the tower hard by. Almost 
at the same instant the door of the room opened, and there 


PAULA . 


363 


entered the landlord of the little inn at Sleeping-Green. Draw- 
ing his supply of cordials from this superior house, to which he 
was subject, he came here at stated times like a prebendary to 
the cathedral of his diocesan, afterwards retailing to his 
own humbler audience the sentiments which he had learnt of 
this. But curiosity being awakened by the church bells the 
usual position was for the moment reversed, and one of the 
farmers, saluting him by name, asked him the reason of their 
striking up at that time of day. 

“ My mis’ess out yonder,” replied the rural landlord, nodding 
sideways, “is coming home with her fancy-man. They have 
been a-gaying together this turk of a while in foreign parts. — 
Here, maid ! — what with the wind, and standing about, my 
blood’s as low as water — bring us a thimbleful of that that isn’t 
gin and not far from it.” 

“ It is true, then, that she’s become Mrs. Somerset ? ” 
indifferently asked a farmer in broadcloth, tenant of an estate 
in quite another direction than hers, as he contemplated the 
grain of the table immediately surrounding the foot of his 
glass. 

“ True — of course it is,” said Havill, who was also present, 
in the tone of one who, though sitting in this rubicund company, 
was not of it. “ I could have told you the truth of it any day 
these last five weeks.” 

Among those who had lent an ear was Dairyman Jinks, an 
old gnarled character who wore a white fustian coat and yellow 
leggings ; the only man in the room who never dressed up in 
dark clothes for marketing. He now asked, “ Married abroad, 
was they ? And how long will a wedding abroad stand good 
for in this country ? ” 

“ As long as a wedding at home.” 

“ Will it ? Faith ; I didn’t know : how should I ? I thought 
it might be some new plan o’folks for leasing women now they 
be so plentiful, so as to get rid o’ ’em when the men be tired 
o’ ’em, and hev spent all their money.” 

“ He won’t be able to spend her money,” said the landlord 
of Sleeping-Green. a ’Tis her very own person’s — settled upon 
the hairs of her head for ever.” 

“ O nation ! Then if I were the man I shouldn’t care for 
such a one-eyed benefit as that,” said Dairyman Jinks, turning 
away to listen to the talk on his other hand. 


364 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Is that true ? ” asked the gentleman-farmer in broadcloth. 

“It is sufficiently near the truth,” said Havill, in an ex 
cathedrd, tone. “ There is nothing at all unusual in the arrange- 
ment; it was only settled so to prevent any schemer making a 
beggar of her. If Somerset and she have any children, which 
probably they will, it will be theirs ; and what can a man want 
more ? Besides, there is a large portion of property left to her 
personal use — quite as much as they can want Oddly enough, 
the curiosities and pictures of the castle which belonged to the 
De Stancys are not restricted from sale : they are hers to do 
what she likes with. Old Power didn’t care for articles that 
reminded him so much of his predecessors.” 

“ Hey?” said Dairyman Jinks, turning back again, having 
decided that the conversation on his right hand was, after all, 
the more interesting. “ Well — why can’t ’em hire a travelling 
chap to touch up the picters into her own gaffers and gammers ? 
Then they’d be worth sommat to her.” 

“ Ah, here they are ? I thought so,” said Havill, who had 
been standing up at the window for the last few moments. 
“The ringers were told to begin as soon as the train 
signalled.” 

As he spoke a carriage drew up to the hotel-door, followed by 
another with the maid and luggage. The inmates crowded to 
the bow- window, except Dairyman Jinks, who had become 
absorbed in his own reflections. 

“ What be they stopping here for ? ” asked one of the 
previous speakers. 

“ They are going to stay here to-night,” said Havill. “ They 
have come quite unexpectedly, and the castle is in such a state 
of turmoil that there is not a single carpet down, or room 
for them to use. We shall get two or three in order by next 
week.” 

“ Two little people like them will be lost in the chammers of 
that wandering place ! ” satirised Dairyman Jinks. “ They will 
be obliged to have a randy every fortnight to keep the moth out 
of the furniture ! ” 

By this time Somerset was handing out the wife of his bosom, 
and Dairyman Jinks went on : “ That’s no more Miss Power 
that was, than my niece’s daughter Kezia is Miss Power — in 
short it is a different woman altogether ! ” 

“There is no mistake about the woman,” said the landlord; 


PAULA. 


365 


“ it is her fur clothes that make her look so like a caterpillar on 
end. Well, she is not a bad bargain ! As for Captain De 
Stancy, he’ll fret his gizzard green.” 

“ He’s the man she ought to have married,” declared the 
farmer in broadcloth. “ As the world goes she ought to have 
been Lady De Stancy. She gave up her chapel-going, and you 
might have thought she would have given up her first young 
man : but she stuck to him, though by all accounts he would 
soon have been interested in another party.” 

“ ’Tis woman’s nature to be false except to a man, and man’s 
nature to be true except to a woman,” said the landlord of 
Sleeping-Green. “ However, all’s well that end’s well, and I 
have something else to think of than new-married couples;” 
saying which the speaker moved off, and the others returned to 
their seats, the young pair who had been their theme vanishing 
through the hotel into some private paradise to rest and dine. 

By this time their arrival had become known, and a crowd 
soon gathered outside, acquiring audacity with continuance 
there. Raising a hurrah, the group would not leave till 
Somerset had showed himself on the balcony above ; and 
then declined to go away till Paula also had appeared; 
when, remarking that her husband seemed a quiet young 
man enough, and would make a very good borough member 
when their present one misbehaved himself, the assemblage 
good-humouredly dispersed. 

Among those whose ears had been reached by the hurrah 
of these idlers was a man in silence and solitude, far out of the 
town. He was leaning over a gate that divided two meads in 
the watery levels between Stancy Castle and Markton. He 
turned his head for a few seconds, then continued his contem- 
plative gaze towards the towers of the castle, visible over the 
trees as far as was possible in the leaden gloom of the 
November eve. The military form of the solitary lounger was 
recognisable as that of Sir William De Stancy, notwithstanding 
the failing light and his attitude of so resting his elbows on the 
gate that his hands enclosed the greater part of his face. 

The scene was inexpressibly cheerless. No other human 
creature was apparent, and the only sounds audible above the 
wind were those of the trickling streams which distributed the 
water over the meadow. A heron had been standing in one of 


366 


A LAODICEAN. 


these rivulets about twenty yards from the officer, and they vied 
with each other in stillness till the bird suddenly rose and flew 
off to the plantation in which it was his custom to pass the 
night with others of his tribe. De Stancy saw the heron rise, 
and seemed to imagine the creature’s departure without a 
supper to be owing to the increasing darkness ; but in another 
minute he became conscious that the heron had been disturbed 
by sounds too distant to reach his own ears at the time. They 
were nearer now, and there came along under the hedge a 
young man known to De Stancy exceedingly well. 

“ Ah,” he said listlessly, “ you have ventured back.” 

“ Yes, captain. Why do you walk out here ? ” 

“ The bells began ringing because she and he were expected, 
and my thoughts naturally dragged me this way. Thank 
heaven the battery leaves , Markton in a few days, and then 
the precious place will know me no more ! ” 

“ I have heard of it.” Turning to where the dim lines of the 
castle rose he continued : “Well, there it stands.” 

“And I am not in it.” 

“ They are not in it yet either.” 

“They soon will be.” 

“ Well — what tune is that you were humming, captain ? ” 

“ All is lost now ,” replied the captain, grimly. 

“ Oh no ; you have got me, and I am a treasure to any man. 
I have another match in my eye for you, and shall get you well 
settled yet, if you keep yourself respectable. So thank God, 
and take courage.” 

“Ah, Will — you are a flippant young fool — wise in your 
own conceit ; I say it to my sorrow ! ’Twas your dishonesty 
spoilt all. That lady would have been my wife by fair dealing 
— time was all I required. But base attacks on a man’s 
character never deserve to win, and if I had once been certain 
that you had made them, my course would have been very 
different both towards you and others. But why should I talk 
to you about this ? If I cared an atom what becomes of you I 
would take you in hand severely enough ; not caring, I leave 
you alone, to go to the devil your own way.” 

“ Thank you kindly, captain. Well, since you have spoken 
plainly, I will do the same. We De Stancys are a worn-out 
old party — that’s the long and the short of it. We represent 
conditions of life that have had their day — especially me. Our 


PAULA. 


3 67 

one remaining chance was an alliance with new aristocrats; 
and we have failed. We are past and done for. Our line has 
had five hundred years of glory, and we ought to be content. 
Enfin les renards se trouoent chez le pelletier 

“Speak for yourself, young consequence, and leave the 
destinies of old families to respectable philosophers. This 
fiasco is the direct result of evil conduct, and of nothing else at 
all. I have managed badly ; I countenanced you too far. 
When I saw your impish tendencies I should have forsworn 
the alliance.” 

“Don’t sting me, captain. What I have told you is true. 
As for my conduct, cat will after kind, you know. You should 
have held your tongue on the wedding morning, and have let 
me take my chance.” 

“ Is that all I get for saving you from jail ? Gad — I alone 
am the sufferer, and feel I am alone the fool ! . . . Come, 
off with you — I never want to see you any more.” 

“ Part we will, then — till we meet again. It will be a light 
night hereabouts, I think, this evening.” 

“ A very dark one for me.” 

“ Nevertheless, I think it will be a light night. Au 
revoir 1” 

Dare went his way, and after a while De Stancy went his. 
Both were soon lost in the shades. 


CHAPTER V. 

The castle to-night was as gloomy as the meads. As Havill 
had explained, the habitable rooms were just now undergoing a 
scour, and the main block of buildings was empty even of the 
few servants who had been retained, they having for comfort s 
sake taken up their quarters in the detached rooms adjoining 
the entrance archway. Hence not a single light shone from 
the lonely windows, at which ivy leaves tapped like wood- 
peckers, moved by gusts that were numerous and contrary 
rather than violent. Within the walls all was silence, chaos, 
and obscurity, till towards eleven o’clock, when the thick im- 


368 


A LAODICEAN. 


movable cloud that had dulled the daytime broke into a 
scudding fleece, through which the moon forded her way as 
a nebulous spot of watery white, sending light enough, though 
of a rayless kind, into the castle chambers to show the confusion 
that reigned there. 

At this time an eye might have noticed a figure flitting in 
and about those draughty apartments, and making no more 
noise in so doing than a puff of wind. Its motion hither and thither 
was rapid, but methodical ; its bearing absorbed, yet cautious. 
Though it ran more or less through all the principal rooms, 
the chief scene of its operations was the Long Gallery over- 
looking the Pleasance, which was covered by an ornamental 
wood-and-plaster roof, and contained a whole throng of family 
portraits, besides heavy old cabinets and the like. The 
portraits which were of value as works of art were smaller 
than these, and hung in adjoining rooms. 

The manifest occupation of the figure was that of removing 
these small and valuable pictures from other chambers to the 
gallery in which the rest were hung, and piling them in a heap 
in the midst. Included in the group were nine by Sir Peter 
Lely, five by Vandyck, four by Cornelius Jansen, one by 
Salvator Rosa (remarkable as being among the few English 
portraits ever painted by that master), many by Kneller, and 
two by Romney. Apparently by accident, the light being 
insufficient to distinguish them from portraits, the figure also 
brought a Raffaelle Virgin-and-Child, a magnificent Tintoretto, 
a Titian, and a Giorgione. 

On these was laid a large collection of enamelled miniature 
portraits of the same illustrious line ; afterwards tapestries and 
cushions embroidered with the initials “ De S.” ; and next the 
cradle presented by Charles the First to the contemporary De 
Stancy mother, till at length there arose in the middle of the 
floor a huge heap containing most of what had been personal 
and peculiar to members of the De Stancy family as distinct 
from general furniture. 

Then the figure went from door to door, and threw open 
each that was unfastened. It next proceeded to a room on 
the ground floor, at present fitted up as a carpenter’s shop, and 
knee deep in shavings. An armful of these was added to the 
pile of objects in the gallery ; a window at each end of the 
-gallery was opened, causing a brisk draught along the walls j 


PA ULA. 369 

and then the activity of the figure ceased, and it was seen no 
more. 

Five minutes afterwards a light shone upon the lawn from 
the windows of the Long Gallery, which glowed with more 
brilliancy than it had known in the meridian of its Caroline 
splendours. Thereupon the framed gentleman in the lace 
collar seemed to open his eyes more widely ; he with the 
flowing locks and turn-up mustachios to part his lips ; he in the 
armour, who was so much like Captain De Stancy, to shake the 
plates of his mail with suppressed laughter ; the lady with the 
three-stringed pearl necklace, and vast expanse of neck, to nod 
with satisfaction and triumphantly signify to her adjoining 
husband that this was a meet and glorious end. 

The light increased, and blown upon by the wind roared 
round the pictures, the tapestries, and the cradle, up to the 
plaster ceiling and through it into the forest of oak timbers 
above. 

The best sitting-room at the King’s Arms in Markton was as 
cosy this evening as a room can be that lacks the minuter 
furniture on which cosiness so largely depends. By the fire 
sat Paula and Somerset, the former with a shawl round her 
shoulders to keep off the draught which, despite the curtains, 
forced its way in on this gusty night through the windows 
opening upon the balcony. Paula held a letter in her hand, 
the contents of which formed the subject of their conversation. 
Happy as she was in her general situation, there was for the 
nonce a tear in her eye. 

“ My ever dear Paula (ran the letter), 

“ Your last letter has just reached me, and I have 
followed your account of your travels and intentions with more 
interest than I can tell. You, who know me, need no assurance 
of this. At the present moment, however, I am in the whirl of 
a change that has resulted from a resolution taken some time 
ago, but concealed from almost everybody till now. Why? 
Well, I will own — from cowardice — fear lest I should be 
reasoned out of my plan. I am going to steal from the world, 
Paula, from the social world, for whose gaieties and ambitions I 
never had much liking, and whose circles I have not the ability 
to grace. My home, and resting-place till the great rest comes, 

2 B 


370 


A LAODICEAN. 


is with the Protestant Sisterhood at . Whatever short- 

comings may be found in such a community, I believe that I 
shall be happier there than in any other place. 

“ Whatever you may think of my judgment in taking this 
step, I can assure you that I have not done it without consider- 
ation. My reasons are good, and my determination is unalter- 
able. But, my own very best friend, and more than sister, 
don’t think that I mean to leave my love and friendship for you 
behind me. No, Paula; you will always be with me, and I 
believe that if an increase in what I already feel for you be 
possible, it will be furthered by the retirement and meditation 
I shall enjoy in my secluded home. My heart is very full, 
dear — too full to write more. God bless you, and your 
husband. You must come and see me there ; I have not so 
many friends that I can afford to lose you who have been so 
kind. I write this with the fellow pen to yours, that you gave 
me when we went to Budmouth together. Good-bye ! 

“ Ever your own sister, 

“ Charlotte.” 

Paula had first read this through silently, and now in reading 
it a second time aloud to Somerset her voice faltered, and she 
wept outright. “ I had been expecting her to live with us 
always,” she said through her tears, “ and to think she should 
have decided to do this ! ” 

“ It is a pity, certainly,” said Somerset gently. “ She was 
genuine, if anybody ever was ; and simple as she was true.” 

“ I am the more sorry,” Paula presently resumed, “ because 
of a little plan I had been thinking of with regard to her. You 
know that the pictures and curiosities of the castle are not 
included in the things I cannot touch, or impeach, or what- 
ever it is. They are our own to do what we like with. My 
father felt in devising the estate that, however interesting to the 
De Stancys those objects might be, they did not concern us 
— were indeed rather in the way, having been come by so 
strangely, through Mr. Wilkins, though too valuable to be 
treated lightly. Now I was going to suggest that we would 
not sell them- indeed I could not bear to do such a thing 
with what had belonged to Charlotte’s forefathers — but to hand 
them over to her as a gift, either to keep for herself, or to pass 
on to her brother, as she should choose. Now I fear there is 


PAULA. 


37i 

no hope of it : and yet I shall never like to see them in tfie 
house.” 

“It can be done still, I should think. She can accept 
them for her brother when he settles, without absolutely taking 
them into her own possession.” 

“It would be a kind of generosity which hardly amounts to 
more than justice (although they were purchased) from a recusant 
usurper to a dear friend — not that lama usurper exactly ; well, 
from a representative of the new aristocracy of internationality 
to a representative of the old aristocracy of exclusiveness.” 

“What do you call yourself, Paula, since you are not of your 
father’s creed ? ” 

“ I suppose I am what poor Mr. Wood well said — by the way, 
we must call and see him — something or other that’s in 
Revelation, neither cold nor hot. But of course that’s a sub- 
species — I may be a lukewarm anything. What I really am, 
as far as I know, is one of that body to whom lukewarmth is 
not an accident but a provisional necessity, till they see a 
little more clearly.” She had crossed over to his side, and 
pulling his head towards her whispered a word in his ear. 

“Why, Mr. Woodwell said you were that too! You carry 
your beliefs very comfortably. I shall be glad when enthusiasm 
is come again.” 

“ I am going to revise and correct my beliefs one of these days 
when I have thought a little further.” She suddenly breathed 
a sigh and added, “ How transitory our best emotions are ! In 
talking of myself I am heartlessly forgetting Charlotte, and be- 
coming happy again. I won’t be happy to-night for her sake ! ” 

A few minutes after this their attention was attracted by a 
noise of footsteps running along the street ; then a heavy tramp 
of horses, and lumbering of wheels. Other feet were heard 
scampering at intervals, and soon somebody ascended the stair- 
case and approached their door. The head waiter appeared. 

“ Ma’am, Stancy Castle is all afire ! ” said the waiter 
breathlessly. 

Somerset jumped up, drew aside the curtains, and stepped 
into the bow-window. Right before him rose a blaze. The 
window looked down the street and along the turnpike road to 
the very hill on which the castle stood, the keep being visible 
in the daytime above the trees. Here rose the light, which 
appeared little further off than a stone’s throw instead of 


372 


A LAODICEAN. 


nearly two miles. Every curl of the smoke and every wave of 
the flame was distinct, and Somerset fancied he could hear 
the crackling. 

Paula had risen from her seat and joined him in the window, 
where she heard some people in the street saying that the 
servants were all safe; after which she gave her mind more 
fully to the material aspects of the catastrophe. 

The whole town was now rushing off to the scene of the 
conflagration, which, shining directly up the street, showed the 
burgesses’ running figures individually upon the illumined road. 
Paula was quite ready to act upon Somerset’s suggestion that 
they too should hasten to the spot, and a fly was got ready in a 
few minutes. With lapse of time Paula evinced more anxiety 
as to the fate of her castle, and when they had driven as near 
as it was prudent to do, they dismounted, and went on foot into 
the throng of people which was rapidly gathering from the town 
and surrounding villages. Among the faces they recognised 
Mr. Woodwell, Havill the architect, the rector of the parish, the 
curate, and many others known to them by sight. These, as 
soon as they saw the young couple, came forward with words of 
condolence, imagining them to have been burnt out of bed, and 
vied with each other in offering them a lodging. Somerset ex- 
plained where they were staying and that they required no 
accommodation, Paula interrupting with, “ Oh my poor horses, 
what has become of them ? ” 

“ The fire is not near the stables,” said Mr. Woodwell. “ It 
broke out in the body of the building. The horses, however, 
are driven into the field.” 

“ I can assure you, you need not be alarmed, madam,” said 
Havill. ‘‘The chief constable is here, and the two town 
engines, and I am doing all I can. The castle engine unfortu- 
nately is out of repair.” 

Somerset and Paula then went on to another point of view 
near the gymnasium, where they could not be seen by the 
crowd. Three quarters of a mile off, on their left hand, the 
powerful irradiation fell upon the brick chapel in which 
Somerset had first seen the woman who now stood beside him 
as his wife. It was the only object visible in that direction, the 
dull hills and trees behind failing to catch the light. She 
significantly pointed it out to Somerset, who knew her meaning, 
and they turned again to the more serious matter. 


PAULA . 


373 


It had long been apparent that in the face of such a wind all 
the pigmy appliances that the populace could bring to act upon 
such a mass of combustion would be unavailing. As much as 
could bum that night was burnt, while some of that which 
would not burn crumbled and fell as a formless heap, whence 
new flames towered up, and inclined to the north-east so far as 
to singe the trees of the park. The thicker walls of Norman 
date remained unmoved, partly because of their thickness, and 
partly because in them stone vaults took the place of wood floors. 

The tower clock kept manfully going till it had struck one, its 
face smiling out from the smoke as if nothing were the matter, 
after which hour something fell down inside, and it went no 
more. 

Cunningham Haze, with his body of men, was devoted in his 
attention, and came up to say a word to our two spectators from 
time to time. 

Towards four o’clock the flames diminished, and feeling 
thoroughly weary, Somerset and Paula remained no longer, 
returning to Markton as they had come. 

On their journey they pondered and discussed what course it 
would be best to pursue in the circumstances, gradually 
deciding not to attempt rebuilding the castle unless they 
were absolutely compelled. True, the main walls were still 
standing as firmly as ever ; but there was a feeling common 
to both of them that it would be well to make an op- 
portunity of a misfortune, and leaving the edifice in ruins 
start their married life in a mansion of independent con- 
struction hard by the old one, unencumbered with the ghosts 
of an unfortunate line. 

“ We will build a new house from the ground, eclectic in style. 
We will remove the ashes, charred wood, and so on from the 
ruin, and plant more ivy. The winter rains will soon wash the 
unsightly smoke from the walls, and Stancy Castle will be 
beautiful in its decay. You, Paula, will be yourself again, and 
recover, if you have not already, from the warp given to your 
mind (according to Woodwell) by the medisevalism of that 
place.” 

“ And be a perfect representative of ‘ the modern spirit ’ ? ” 
she inquired ; “ representing neither the senses and understand- 
ing, nor the heart and imagination ; but what a finished writer 
calls ‘ the imaginative reason ’ ? ” 


374 


A LAODICEAN. 


“ Yes ; for since it is rather in your line you may as well 
keep straight on.” 

“Very well, I’ll keep straight on; and we’ll build a new 
house beside the ruin, and show the modern spirit for ever- 
more. . . . But, George, I wish ” And Paula repressed a 

sigh. 

“ Well ? ” 

i wish my castle wasn’t burnt ; and I wish you were a De 
Stancy 1 ” 


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